


Baby Steps

by Juli



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Mpreg, Non-Chronological, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:56:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 111
Words: 326,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2039859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juli/pseuds/Juli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glimpses into the life of Dean and Sam as they cope with Dean's pregnancy and, eventually, their growing family. Chapters in the Baby Steps series will range from drabbles to multi-chapter novellas, from humor to angst, and will not be in chronological order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cravings

**Author's Note:**

> I originally began posting chapters of this story to the Sam/Dean Slash Archive (and my YahooGroups fiction list) in August 2006.

"Dean, that's just gross."

"Wh-..." Dean asked, talking around his mouthful of supposed grossness.

"Because, dude," Sam explained patiently. "Chocolate ice cream and pickled herring aren't supposed to be eaten together."

Dean rubbed his rounded tummy. "Tell that to your offspring, Sammy." He burped and glanced down at his bowl in contemplation. "On second thought, maybe you're right."

"Thank God," Sam murmured. The morning sickness had been easier to deal with than Dean's increasingly bizarre eating habits.

"It's missing something," Dean said after a moment of thought. "We got any of that sweet and sour sauce left?"

Sam swallowed heavily to keep from gagging. "Dean..." He knew he'd lose it if he were forced to witness that combination. "I think I ate the last of it."

His brother sighed heavily. "That's okay. I can carry our child for nine months, with all the barfing, heartburn and stretch marks that are part of the package deal and manage to do it just fine even without sweet and sour sauce."

He didn't even try to resist, Sam just reached for his coat and started looking for the car keys. "I'll go get you some more."

Dean's answering smile was beatific. "I knew there was a reason I let you knock me up in the first place."

~the end~

Original posting date: August 11, 2006


	2. Weight Gain

“Sammy! You shrunk another pair of my jeans. Dude, you gotta pay more attention when it’s your turn to do the laundry.”

Sam flinched as his brother called out from the bathroom. Sam had been dreading this conversation. Dean had many admirable qualities, but being humble about his body wasn’t one of them. The full implications of his physical condition simply hadn’t occurred to Dean yet and Sam had a sinking feeling it was going to be up to him to help Dean see some of the realities of the situation.

Lucky him.

“Dude, are you listening?” Dean repeated as he stepped out of the bathroom. His jeans were on, but unbuttoned. Since he didn’t have a shirt on either, the slightly rounded bulge of his tummy was revealed.

“Yeah,” Sam responded, licking his lips at the sight. He lost the thread of what else he was going to say, his focus instead being narrowed to that undone button.

“Earth to Sam.” Dean waved a hand in front of Sam’s dazed eyes. “I’m serious, Sammy. It takes forever to break in a pair of jeans and this is the third one that’s too small.”

Sam took a deep breath, giving himself a mental shake to help improve his concentration. “I did the laundry the same way as I always do.” 

Dean shook his head. “Well, maybe something was screwy with the Laundromat’s machines.”

“Dean, like you said, it’s been three pairs.” Sam pointed out. Then he screwed up his courage and finished the thought. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe it’s not the machines or the way the laundry’s being done?”

His brother’s expression hardened. “Are you saying that I’m getting fat?”

Sam held his hands up in a warding-off gesture. “No! Not at all. . . it’s just that you are over four months pregnant.”

“You are saying that I’m fat,” Dean’s eyes narrowed as he glared at his brother. “You bastard. You’re the reason; it’s your kid giving me this belly.”

“Our child,” Sam corrected him. “And you’re not fat, you’re just. . . “ Sam struggled for the least offensive description. “Just more rounded than you normally are.”

Dean had turned his back on Sam and was staring intently in the mirror. He spread one hand over the bulge in his stomach. “I am fat.”

Sam got up from their chair he’d been sitting on and, after coming to stand behind Dean, he wrapped his arms around his brother. His hands ended up over Dean’s own, both of them cradling their unborn child.

“It’s not fat,” Sam stated. “It’s a baby and I think that’s beautiful.”

Their eyes met in the mirror and apparently at least some of Sam’s sincerity shone through because Dean eventually smiled. It was a small smile, but its appearance immediately made Sam feel better.

“You start singing ‘He’s Having My Baby” again,’ Sammy,” Dean warned, “And I’ll happily raise this kid by myself, because you’ll be six feet under.”

Sam chuckled and rested his chin on Dean’s shoulder, still keeping eye contact through the mirror. “Well, I think you’re the sexiest you’ve ever been, baby bump and all.”

The smile turned into a smirk and Sam knew the crisis had been averted.

“Gee, Sammy,” Dean drawled. “If a belly was this big of a turn on for you, you could have just had me drink more beer.”

Sam grinned and nuzzled behind Dean’s neck. “Oh, I don’t know. Getting you pregnant was a hell of a lot more fun.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Dean teased, even as he arched his neck to give Sam better access. “We are talking about beer here. That’s pretty hard to top.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to refresh your memory,” Sam grinned as he tugged his brother towards the bed.

And so he did, for the better part of the night. Dean had to take another shower, but surprisingly, didn’t complain about that at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original posting date: August 12, 2006


	3. A New Hunt

Sam took a moment to gather himself before entering the apartment that he shared with his brother. Nowadays, he never knew what kind of mood Dean would be in, thanks to the hormones. To his surprise, when he opened the door, he found a cheerful, almost hyper, sibling.

“Sammy, there you are,” Dean greeted him as he came in. “I’ve been waiting for you. We’ve got a new hunt.”

Remembering the confrontation they’d had about Dean giving up hunting, at least until the baby was born, Sam flinched. “Wait a minute, Dean. . . .”

Dean didn’t slow down long enough to let Sam get a word in edgewise, his mouth working as fast as his hands as he packed a duffle bag that was sitting on the kitchen table. “We won’t need any special guns for this one,” his face grew contemplative. “Holy water might kind in handy, though. These bitches are the devil’s spawn.”

Sam grabbed Dean by the shoulders and forced his brother to stop. “Dean, you agreed no hunting. The baby, remember?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “But this is for the baby, Sam. We can’t let them get their hands on him.”

Fear sliced through Sam. What was Dean talking about? Some new demon or cadre of demons was after their unborn son?

“Who, Dean?” Sam questioned the other man, anxious now. “What?”

“Them,” Dean said, thrusting a folded newspaper into Sam’s hands.

With growing trepidation, Sam looked down, but what was pictured there was not at all what he was expecting. He looked at the advertisement, which Dean had circled with a red marker, and then back at his brother, a frown of confusion wrinkling his forehead.

“The Wiggles?” Sam asked. “What does that have to do with us?”

And how could they harm the baby, was his unasked question.

“I saw a story about them on the local news,” Dean explained. “They’re doing some show up in the city next week. So, I thought, they’re popular and if they’re around when Junior’s big enough, he’s going to want to watch them. I thought I should do the good daddy thing and check them out.”

“And?” Sam prompted when Dean fell silent.

“And they’re evil, Sam.” Dean stated flatly. “Four candy-assed guys singing songs about hot potatoes, some pirate with a feather sword, and Wiggledancing? Gimme a break.”

Sam rubbed his temples, the sudden release of tension and anxiety was threatening to give him a headache. “Dean, they’re a children’s singing group. They’re not supposed to make a lot of sense to adults.”

“Oh, trust me, Sammy,” Dean claimed. “We off these freaks and parents around the country will thank us.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Sam soothed him. “But we can’t just hunt down every children’s icon that doesn’t meet your expectations.”

Dean ignored him. “And after the Wiggles, it’s Barney. I always wanted to bag a dinosaur.”

Sam sighed and resigned himself to listening to ranting for the rest of the evening. If there was one good thing about it being late in the third trimester of Dean’s pregnancy, it was that his brother tired quickly. All Sam had to do was wait him out; they’d probably be laughing at this by morning.

While Dean went about his business gathering supplies, Sam picked up the advertisement and looked at it again. Thinking about the Wiggles got him thinking about something he’d come across while still at Stanford, one afternoon when he’d been sick and bored enough to channel surf.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam called out as he hurried to catch up to his brother. “What about the Teletubbies? I bet those things are aliens.”

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted August 13, 2006


	4. Conception

“Man, people are so gullible.”

“Mmmm…” Sam murmured. The hot New Mexico sun was making him sleepy and he couldn’t drum up any more energy than that to respond to his brother’s comment.

The Winchesters had hit a dry spell of sorts. They’d come to the southwest to investigate a supposedly haunted excavation site, only find it to be an elaborate hoax put on by some archeology students. The brothers decided to check out supernatural phenomenon on their way back to their usual hunting grounds in the midwest, but pickings had been slim. A local legend about a fertility goddess had peaked Sam’s interest and now they were staking it out.

The goddess figurine was made of some sort of fired adobe or clay and was supposedly Mayan in origin. It was more of a statue, really, short, squat and excessively female in shape. It was displayed prominently in a public park, which at least was convenient, although it seemed a little odd. As the legend went, if a woman touched it and if her desire for a child was strong enough and pure enough, she’d soon find herself pregnant. For the last hour, Dean and Sam had sat on a nearby bench and watched a virtual parade of women come by to touch it. Some looked sheepish and giggly, while others were downright serious.

Even as Dean made his comment, yet another woman approached. She looked to be in her late 30s and her eyes were red-rimmed, as though she’d recently spent a lot of time crying. As they watched, she tentatively approached the statue and rubbed its stomach, first hesitantly and then with more force. Her sob was audible as she turned and walked away, her fast steps making it seem a hasty retreat.

“That just sucks,” Dean muttered.

Sam looked over at his brother. The veins in Dean’s neck were sticking out and his hands were fisted at his sides.

“What’s got you so mad?” Sam asked, curious. 

“Did you see her, Sam?” Dean barked. “That woman obviously was upset and that damn legend’s probably got her hopes up.”

Sam shrugged. “Sometimes people just need something to believe in.”

“Yeah, and when it doesn’t come through, what’s she going to do then? If she’s gullible enough to believe the legend, she’ll just assume she didn’t want it bad enough.”

“I don’t know,” Sam admitted. He brushed his hands against his thighs and stood up. “Come on, this doesn’t look like our kind of thing.”

In truth, Sam was getting some sort of vibe off the figurine, but he didn’t want to admit that to Dean. Whatever it was, it felt benign and, given Dean’s current attitude, Sam simply didn’t want to argue about it.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Dean got up, but instead of walking towards the Impala, he strode over to the statue.

“What are you doing?” Sam demanded, getting a bad feeling.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Dean retorted. He reached the figurine and made a show of rubbing its stomach. “Man, this thing makes Dolly Parton look flat-chested.”

“I don’t think you should be doing that,” Sam cautioned as he hastened to make his way to Dean’s side. “And I think you should show more respect.”

Dean snorted. “Why? I’m not a woman and my lover’s a man, as you damn well know.”

“I don’t know,” Sam repeated. The vibe he was getting from the figurine was stronger the closer he got. “I just think you need to be careful.”

With one last pat on its stomach, Dean turned away. “Okay, Samantha, if it bothers you that bad. Let’s hit the road.”

Sam remembered that vibe he’d felt later that night when they made love. Not that it did any good. The condom broke, but at the time, he was too satiated to care.

It was only later, much later, that it occurred to him to wonder that he’d never noticed just how much and how purely that his brother wanted a child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted August 14, 2006


	5. Good Intentions

Sam Winchester pulled the Impala into a parking spot and shut of the engine. He sat in the car for a few moments, not quite ready to go in to the motel room. It had been an eventful night. Sam had located the vengeful spirit’s burial place, dug up its grave and salted, then burned, the bones. Working solo, he’d done it all by himself. Then he’d gone back to the house and reassured the frightened couple that they didn’t need to worry about being strangled in their sleep by a the ghost of a grandfather who didn’t approve of their lifestyle. Both women had thanked Sam profusely and pressed a gift of money into his hands. His pride wanted him to turn it down, but reality made him take it. With a baby on the way, the money would come in handy.

His actions had saved the lives of two women who’s only “crime” had been to love one another. Sam had never felt so ashamed in his life.

Knowing that putting it off wouldn’t improve matters any, Sam gathered what was left of his courage and got out of the car. 

“Dean, it’s just me,” he called out as he unlocked the motel room door.

There was no answer.

Sam’s eyes immediately went to the bed. It was empty, in spite of the measures he’d taken to make sure that his brother didn’t accompany him on the hunt. The padded pair of handcuffs he’d used hung from the headboard, a silent accusation. With a feeling of dread, Sam closed the door and he fully entered the room.

“Dean?”

“Hey, honey, you’re home.”

His brother’s hearty voice came from behind him and Sam whirled. Dean was standing next to the door, perfectly safe. 

“You okay?” Dean asked before Sam could speak.

“Yeah, it went great,” Sam replied. “Textbook case, really.”

“Good.” Dean nodded. 

And then he decked his brother, his punch knocking Sam out momentarily. When the younger Winchester came to, he was flat on the floor, a throb in his jaw reminding him of what happened. Groaning, he sat up.

“I guess I deserved that,” Sam admitted quietly. “But, Dean, I was only trying to protect you.”

“No ‘guess’ about it.” Dean’s voice sounded unusually cold. 

When Sam followed the sound, he found his brother sitting on the room’s lone chair, looking at him with an implacable expression on his face. Sam gulped. Anger, he could deal with. Dean blew up all the time, but just as quickly got over it. This was different and Sam didn’t need psychic abilities to know things could get very bad, very quickly.

“You left me cuffed to the bed, Sam, with no way to defend myself if one of our supernatural buddies dropped by to play.”

“I left you a bottle of holy water,” Sam retorted. “And a knife.” He hadn’t dared leave a gun, afraid that Dean would try to shoot off the cuffs. Not that it had done any good, since Dean had obviously managed to jimmy them open anyway.

“Did you ever think what might happen if there was a fire, Einstein?” Dean shot back, each word bit off with repressed anger. “Like this fleabag motel has a good sprinkler system. I would have fried, with no way to escape.”

Nightmares of Jessica’s death had plagued Sam for months, bringing back not only the sight of her burning to death, but the sound and the smell too. It was all too easy to imagine a similar scene, only with Dean and their unborn child at the middle of the conflagration. 

Sam gagged. With a hand over his mouth, he ran to the bathroom, barely getting there in time. He vomited violently. Unlike past times when he’d been sick, no warm brotherly presence came to soothe him, no big hand stroked his back as he retched.

When it was over, he rested his head against the cool porcelain for a moment before rising. Sam splashed some water on his face and in his mouth and then went back to face the man he’d wronged.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said, walking over to the bed and sitting on the edge. He sagged, elbows on his knees and face hidden in his hands. “I swear, Dean, I was only trying to keep you safe.”

There was a couple of heartbeats of silence before Dean answered.

“I know,” Dean’s voice was still rough, but slightly warmer than it had been a few minutes earlier. “That’s why I’m still here.”

Sam lifted his head. “Dean, you can’t hunt, it’s too dangerous. All it would take would be one spirit throwing you across the room and the baby could get hurt. You could hurt. Whether you like it or not, you’re vulnerable right now.”

Dean sighed heavily. “You’re right.”

“I am?” Sam blinked. He’d never guessed that Dean would give in so easily.

“You’re right,” Dean repeated. He scrubbed his hands across his face and then glared at his brother. “About the hunting. Not about the stunt you pulled.”

“Dean, I — I don’t know what to say,” Sam stammered. “I was just worried.”

“Why is it, Sam, that a guy who wants to talk about feelings and crap all the time just goes all Neanderthal and ties me to the damn bed?” Dean asked heatedly. “I thought I was the insensitive prick in this relationship, but seems to me that you just want me barefoot and pregnant.”

“I did try to talk to you about hunting,” Sam defended himself. “You brushed me off.”

“Well, yeah, but I’m not as smart as you,” Dean replied. “You got to give me a little time to think about stuff like that, not just pull out the handcuffs.”

It didn’t take much thinking to realize that Dean was right. Not about him not being smart, but that Sam hadn’t put in nearly enough effort to convince Dean that it was time to put the rock salt loaded shotgun away for awhile.

“You’re right,” Sam admitted humbly. “I should have talked to you about it more, not just taken matters into my own hands. All I can say is that I was scared. I can’t lose you, Dean.” He took a deep breath and looked Dean in the face. “Can you forgive me?”

Dean looked at him steadily. “Will you promise me that it won’t ever happen again?” 

“I promise,” Sam responded immediately. “Never again.”

“All righty, then,” Dean’s shoulders relaxed as the tension left his body.

Sam got up from the bed and walked over the chair, pulling his brother up and into his arms. “I am so sorry.”

To Sam’s immense relief, Dean’s arms came up and he hugged him back.

“You’re not the only scared one here,” Dean whispered hoarsely into Sam’s shoulder. “I can’t lose you either. I can’t do this by myself, Sammy.”

“You won’t have to,” Sam vowed. “I’m with you every step of the way.”

Sam loosened his grip on his brother and walked them both over to the bed, where they sat side by side.

“Way I figure it,” Sam began, “we’ve got three options. First, I can hunt by myself.”

Dean’s thigh was pressed close to Sam’s and he felt a shudder go through the pregnant man’s body. “Not an option, Sammy.”

“Okay,” Sam didn’t argue. No doubt there’d be plenty of clashes in their future, both of them being stubborn Winchesters, but Sam was through with disagreeing with Dean on this subject. “Second, I can find a temporary partner to hunt with until after the baby’s born.”

Dean thought about it, but ended up slowly shaking his head. “That’s not going to work either. Bobby, Caleb and the others are good men, but the only person I’d trust watching your back is Dad.”

This time, both men shuddered at the thought of explaining their current predicament to their father.

“Right, not an option,” Sam said firmly. “That leaves the third choice, both of us not hunting until after the baby comes.”

Dean sighed. “Yeah, I guess that’s what we’ll do.”

“It won’t be so bad,” Sam tried to encourage his brother. “We’ll find an apartment somewhere, get jobs, try the real thing for a while. I assume you’d like to go back to Kansas? I bet Missouri would love to mother hen you for a while.”

“No way am I letting that woman get her hands on me,” Dean retorted, the beginnings of a smile playing around his lips. “Besides, one mother hen’s enough in this outfit and you’ve already got the position filled.” His face became serious. “I want to go to Virginia.”

Sam frowned. It wasn’t that he objected to that as a destination, he just had no clue as to why Dean would have chosen it. As far as he knew, the Winchester family didn’t have any ties there. “Why Virginia?”

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately,” Dean explained. “Sooner or later, I’m going to need a doctor, preferably one that won’t sell us out to the Jerry Springer show or something.”

“And you know one in Virginia?”

“The DC area, yeah,” Dean replied. “She’s pretty used to strange stuff too. I’m sure she’d be willing to help.”

“Okay,” Sam agreed. “We’ll hit the road tomorrow.”

Sam toed his shoes off and slid back on the bed, pulling his brother with him. Dean allowed himself to be gathered into Sam’s arms and even rested his head on Sam’s shoulder. Sam sighed in deep contentment. For a few moments earlier, he’d begun to think that his actions would keep him from holding Dean like this ever again.

“And Sam?” Dean asked, looking up into his brother’s face. “There’s one more thing I’m pissed at you about.”

“Yeah?” Sam replied. He would have been more worried, but he saw the familiar glint of mischief in Dean’s eyes.

“The next time you bring out the handcuffs and promise me an evening of fun with them, you damn well stick around.”

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted August 15, 2006


	6. Nesting

Dean Winchester was fine with shopping as long as guns or auto parts were involved. Since it would be years before their baby would need either, Sam was surprised when his brother readily agreed to a trip to the local mall.

“Babies need stuff,” Dean had shrugged, smiling ruefully. “You don’t remember, but traveling with you was a real bitch at first, all the crap we had to haul around for you.”

Later that evening, they were wandering the aisle of the baby department and Sam had to agree. Babies needed an astonishingly large amount of stuff. His eyes got wider and wider as they walked past shelf after shelf of items that apparently were necessary for the care and raising of an infant.

“Can you believe all the different styles of bibs?” Sam asked, overwhelmed and just a little bit appalled. “I didn’t use this many, did I?”

Dean’s answering smile had a glint of mischief in it. “Way I remember, you used a ton, mostly because you ate like a pig. I think we ended up just tying a towel around you and then just hosing you off later.”

Sam knew full well that his brother was exaggerating, but didn’t call Dean on it. Dean was obviously enjoying himself, something that had become somewhat rare of late. They’d decided that it was too risky for Dean to get a “real” job. Certainly, it was too chancy for Dean to take the type of job he usually did when they were strapped for cash, namely as a bouncer or a bartender. The first was obviously too dangerous, for the same reason that hunting was. As for the second, Sam had put his foot down. It wasn’t good for the baby to be around that much secondhand smoke.

Dean ended up working from home, doing data entry and stuffing envelopes. Although he wasn’t exactly a social butterfly under the best of circumstances, it wasn’t an ideal situation for him. Sam had noticed Dean becoming a little isolated and almost felt guilty for enjoying his own job as a construction laborer. Dean would have relished the physical work and getting to be out in the air, but the very condition that necessitated their taking “normal” jobs prevented him from that kind of work. Sam didn’t let his guilty feelings keep him from taking construction job, though. The pay was good and it kept him physically fit enough so that when they went back to hunting, he’d still be reasonably in shape. 

As for Dean, no one had noticed that he was pregnant, even though he was definitely showing it. Since everyone knew that men didn’t get pregnant, it never entered anyone’s minds that Dean was expecting a child. When he did go out, Dean wore a coat and that helped even more. 

“Oh, man, look at this,” Dean called out softly, pulling Sam from his reverie. “Does this do what I think it does?”

Dean was over in what was labeled the baby accessories aisle and was holding up a package that contained a bulbous shape with a tapered end. It looked almost like a tiny, squat turkey baster.

“A nasal aspirator,” Sam read from the package. 

“You supposed to suck the snot out with that?” Dean asked. “That’s just friggin’ gross, man.”

“I hate to tell this to you, Dean,” Sam smiled as he warned his brother. “Babies are not for the squeamish. There’s diapers, for one thing.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know, Junior. I put powder on your hairy butt before.”

Sam leaned in close enough to whisper in Dean’s ear. “Are you talking about last night or back when I was a baby?”

A surreptitious pinch to Dean’s ass accompanied Sam’s comment and Dean jumped a little. After his initial surprise, though, Dean snorted in appreciation.

“Yeah, well, if you think that was powder I used on you last night, then you are definitely out of practice,” Dean retorted, but his expression was lighter than Sam had seen it in days.

They shared a grin and probably would have shared a kiss too, but didn’t dare out in public.

“You know, maybe we should pick up some stuff while we’re here,” Sam suggested. “We’ve only got a couple of months left. Given the sheer quantity of what the baby needs, we might as well get started.”

Dean considered. “Like what?”

Sam had been totally serious when he’d made the suggestion, but something had caught his eye as he’d been talking to Dean.

“One of these,” Sam responded, reaching past Dean to grab a box. He handed it to his brother and bit back a smile as he waited for a reaction.

“A breast pump?” Dean looked vaguely ill. “That’s not just a ‘no,’ Sammy, it’s a HELL no.” He hastily replaced the box on the shelf, as though it could bite.

Sam couldn’t help it, he laughed at his brother’s indignation. Dean’s eyes narrowed.

“I will carry this child for nine months,” Dean leaned forward and whispered in a hoarse voice. “I gave up beer and caffeine. Hell, I even got used to having a belly so big that I’m not able to see my own cock for a couple of months and, let me tell you, that makes it really hard to take a leak and hit the bowl. But I’ll be damned if I breast feed. Men don’t have breasts, anyway. We have chests. It’s not the same thing at all.”

“No, it’s not the same, not even close,” Sam agreed solemnly, then ruined his sincerity by grinning broadly.

Dean muttered under his breath and moved away. Realizing he was in danger of ruining the mood he’d been attempting to create, Sam grabbed him by the arm and bent down to whisper in his ear again.

“I’m glad you’re not breastfeeding,” Sam admitted. “I consider those nipples mine and I don’t share.”

At the obvious loving, but possessive tone, Dean relaxed. “I always knew Dad and I spoiled you rotten; you never were good at sharing your toys.”

“Well, when it comes to the ‘boys,’” Sam nodded at Dean’s chest and licked his lips. “I don’t share. With anybody.”

Dean lifted one eyebrow, but didn’t comment. Sam knew from the slight blush on his brother’s face, though, that Dean was pleased.

“Okay, we’re clear on no breast pumps,” Dean summarized. “What else were you thinking of getting tonight?”

“I dunno,” Sam shrugged. “Let’s see what’s on sale.”

With the way they’d been raised, both Winchesters were thrifty. By unspoken mutual consent, they’d decided not to use any credit card scams while Dean was pregnant, as though they didn’t want to sully the impending birth. It was sometimes tight, but with two incomes and living modestly, they were actually saving up some money.

A little overwhelmed, the couple only managed to pick out a few things before they ended up over by the cribs. Dean looked almost wistful as he looked them over.

“I remember your crib,” he told Sam. “Sometimes I’d crawl in with you.”

“It burned in the fire,” Sam commented; it wasn’t exactly a question. 

One unexpected positive that had accompanied Dean’s pregnancy was that his brother had become more open about his early childhood. Sam had learned more about Dean’s earliest memories, and his own earliest days, in the last few months than he had in his entire life.

Dean shrugged. “Yeah. And, afterwards, no matter who we bunked with or where Dad put you down to sleep, I’d always end up with you.” He smiled sadly. “I guess I missed that crib as much as you did.”

“You know,” Sam suggested. “The baby’s going to need somewhere to sleep.”

Dean shook his head. “We move around too much for a crib like this, Sammy.”

“I thought we’d decided to stay in one place until the baby was at least a couple of months old?” Sam pointed out.

His brother only shrugged. “There’s no sense in buying a crib for only a couple of months.”

Dean wandered on, murmuring something about paying and getting out of there, but not before Sam noticed him eyeing a bedding set that was decorated with colorful cars. Sam smiled to himself. He was getting a nice, fat overtime check next week. He’d been planning on buying something special with it and now he knew what. Dean needed that crib, maybe more than even the baby did. A crib meant the home that Dean had lost and Sam was going to make sure that he got it back. If not the home, then at least the security that went with it.

As they approached the cash register, Sam noticed that Dean had added a bottle of baby powder to the stack of bottles and blankets and bibs they’d picked out.

“Powder, Dean?” Sam questioned him. “I thought we’d pick that up right before the baby was born, like with the diapers.”

Dean’s grin was downright evil as he responded.

“Who said anything about it being for the baby?”

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted August 16, 2006


	7. Flutters

“I have never seen one person eat so much in my entire life.”

Dean paused after he unlocked the Impala, leaning against it as he addressed his brother’s comment. “Dude, it was a buffet,” Dean’s grin was wide and Sam could see his eyes dancing, even from across the roof of the car. “Besides, I’m eating for two now, remember?”

Sam grinned back, knowing it made him look goofy, but not caring. References to Dean’s pregnancy tended to do that to him. “Still,” he retorted as he climbed into the passenger’s side. “Did you see the look on the manager’s face? I thought the man was gonna cry.”

“You shouldn’t put up a sign that says all-you-can eat if you don’t expect people to take advantage of it,” Dean said primly. He got in and put the key in the ignition, but didn’t turn the car on. Instead, he burped and absently rubbed his stomach. “I guess I shouldn’t have had that last piece of pie.”

“It’s more like, you shouldn’t have had the last two pieces of pie,” Sam snorted. He turned to grab his seatbelt and when he went to buckle it, he noticed that Dean still hadn’t moved. He looked closer and saw a strange expression on his brother’s face. “Are you okay?”

Dean was looking down at his belly. “It moved.”

“What?” Sam asked, knowing even as he did so that he was being unbelievably dense. “What moved?”

“The baby.” Dean lifted his head to look at Sam, eyes unusually wide with surprise. Or was that awe?

Sam felt like he’d stopped breathing. “The baby moved?”

“That’s what I sa-. . . .” Dean’s voice broke off as strange look on his face returned. “It did it again.”

“Well, you are 18 weeks along and the baby book says to expect it after about the 16 week mark, although every pregnancy is different. Some women feel it sooner, but a lot of them feel it later.” Sam was babbling and knew it, but damn if he was able to stop himself. “The point is, you’re right on target.”

Dean unbuttoned his ever-present pregnancy-hiding coat in order to put his hand over the bulge that was their growing baby. Sam watched those expressive green eyes go wide again and figured their child had moved another time, proclaiming its presence to the father that was carrying it. 

With his hand still on his stomach, Dean looked up at his brother again. “Right on target, huh? I guess I don’t suck at this pregnant thing, after all.”

Sam felt his eyes filling with tears. “I think you’re damn near perfect at it.”

His brother blushed a little, but didn’t protest. He did, however, reach for Sam’s hand and carefully placed it on his stomach. Neither man spoke, not wanting to break the moment. When he was about to give up, figuring the baby had moved all it was going to for the night, Sam felt the faintest of flutters underneath his hand.

“Wow.” There really didn’t seem to be anything else to say. Some things defied description and feeling your child for the first time was one of them.

“That’s all you can say, College Boy?” Dean teased, although Sam was close enough to see the tears in his brother’s eyes. Dean always did try to cover up the tender moments with sarcasm. “I wonder if the scholarship board would be impressed with your vocabulary now.”

Sam shook his head, knowing that the goofy grin was back, but not caring in the least. “That’s the most amazing thing in the world.”

Not mindful at all that they were still semi-public, he leaned over and kissed Dean, trying to put all the love he felt for the other man into the gentle brush of their lips.

“Come on, Samantha, I’m taking you home. How come I’m the pregnant one and you’re the one acting like a girl?” Dean drawled when they broke apart. He started the car and carefully backed out of the parking space. “Aw, damn.”

“What?” Sam asked, feeling a sense of déjà vu.

“I just thought of something,” Dean explained, a smile playing around his lips as he steered the car back to their place. “If this kid takes after you, it’s gonna be a long five months.”

“What do you mean?” Sam rose to the bait. At this moment in time, he’d indulge Dean in just about anything. Heaven help him if his brother ever figured that out. 

“You ever look at the size of your feet, Sammy?” Dean quipped. “They’re as big as watermelons. I’m gonna be black and blue from the inside out, if the baby has your feet.”

Sam snorted. “And if he has your ego, there won’t be any room for him to kick, because it’s too big to leave him any room to move much.”

The banter was Dean’s way of saying he loved Sam. Sam got that and responded in turn, knowing it wasn’t the time for tender words. That would come later.

But Dean drove the whole way home, never once complaining that Sam kept a warm hand on his stomach the entire time.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted August 17. 2006


	8. Spooks Sticking Together

“You never did say where you met this doctor.” Sam looked away from the passing scenery and studied his brother. Dean was the picture of cool, with his leather jacket and sunglasses, but Sam didn’t miss the fact that his brother’s hands were clenched on the steering wheel. 

“No, I never did,” Dean responded curtly.

Sam bit back a sarcastic comment, knowing it wasn’t going to help. Dean was already nervous; if he felt he was being backed into a corner, things might get ugly.

“I’m going to meet her in a few minutes anyway,” Sam pointed out gently. “We’re almost there. I’m not asking to see her credentials. If you trust her that’s good enough for me, but I’d at least like to know how you met.”

“I didn’t sleep with her, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Sam gaped. The possibility had never even occurred to him. Dean glanced over and the expression on his face must have made that clear, because some of the tension eased from the older man’s body.

“Do you remember Dad ever talking about a guy named Walter Skinner?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” Sam answered, still unsettled enough about Dean’s earlier comment that he didn’t protest the seeming change in subject. “Wasn’t he Dad’s CO for a while, back when he was in the Marines?”

Dean nodded his head. “Yeah, that’s the guy. Dana’s his wife.”

“Oh.” It wasn’t brilliant, but was all Sam could think of to say. “I didn’t realize they kept in touch.”

“They didn’t, but a couple of years back, while you were in California, it kind of came up.” It was a testament to how their relationship had deepened that Dean could mention that time in their lives without any bitterness. “We were tracking this possessed guy and so were these Feds.”

“Feds, as in FBI?” Sam asked, confused. “What does that have to do with the doctor?”

”I’m getting to that,” Dean replied, getting impatient. “Turns out these Feds, a man and a woman, were more open to the idea of spirit possession than your normal FBI. Hell, the guy was almost more into it than Dad, even. Anyway, when we decided we’d work together and got to comparing notes, we found out that their boss was this Walter Skinner.”

“You mean to tell me that our father has connections with the FBI?” Sam didn’t believe it. John Winchester had skirted the edges of the law for as long as Sam could remember.

“Yeah. We met up with him a week or so after that,” Dean explained. “Skinner is a little more skeptical than Mulder, the guy Fed I told you about, but he’s more of a believer than Dana, the woman Fed.”

“Wait a minute,” Sam interrupted him. “Dana’s the doctor’s name, right? How can she be a FBI agent if she’s a doctor? Besides, I thought you said she was married to Skinner, not that she worked for him.”

Dean sighed. “That’s why I didn’t tell you about this stuff, it’s complicated. All I know is that Dana Scully is a Fed AND a doctor and she’s seen as much weird stuff as we have, maybe more. She’s not going to run screaming for the hills at the sight of a pregnant man.”

Sam chewed on his thumbnail. “And you’re not worried that she’ll tell Dad? You know, about us?”

At that comment, Dean smiled tightly. “Nah, Dana’s cool. Besides, she’s in the middle of an alternative lifestyle of her own, she’s not going to give us any crap about the fact that we’re related.”

“Really?” Sam relaxed a little, he’d been a little worried about that. No one knew they were lovers, as far as he was aware, and he was dreading anyone finding out. “Why? Because she’s married to her boss?”

“Yeah, that has something to do with it,” Dean’s grin became a little less forced. “That and the fact that she’s married to Fox Mulder too. He’s the FBI agent I mentioned earlier, the one I said was all gung-ho about supernatural crap.” Dean explained, seeing the confusion on Sam’s face. “Mulder’s on a hunt of his own, his sister was abducted by aliens when they were kids.”

Sam stared at his brother long and hard, finally coming to the conclusion that Dean wasn’t lying. “You know what? I’m sorry I asked.”

“That’s kinda what I thought,” Dean responded smugly. “Look, there’s our turnoff.”

Dean had phoned Dana when they’d reached Virginia and she’d asked them to meet her at a clinic run by a friend. Since it was a Sunday, they’d have the place to themselves. A large, black SUV was the only other vehicle in the parking lot, so Sam figured that the mysterious Dr. Scully had already arrived.

“Well,” Sam said as Dean shut the car off, but made no move to get out. “I guess we go in.”

“I guess so,” Dean said, not stirring.

Even with the sunglasses hiding his eyes, Sam knew his brother was stewing over something. “You okay?”

The laugh he got in response was anything but mirthful. “It’s just, this makes it feel real, you know?”

“We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to,” Sam put a hand on Dean’s thigh, wanting to support his lover. “You’ll still be pregnant, though, whether you see the doctor or not. It doesn’t get any more real than it already is.”

“Yeah,” Dean finally answered. He stared at the brick building for another moment before taking his sunglasses off and tossing them on the dashboard. “Let’s get this over with.”

Sam wasn’t feeling as confident as he sounded as they entered the empty clinic. It felt eerie, for a place like that to be so quiet. Not eerie in a ghostly or haunted sort of way, just that it should have been bustling with activity.

Because it was empty and silent, however, Sam immediately noticed the three people who’d been waiting for them in the lobby.

“Dean,” the woman of the trio called out. “It’s good to see you.”

Dana Scully was not what Sam expected. She was a petite redhead who had a no-nonsense kindness in her expression. More surprising, Dean “No Chick Flick Moments” Winchester took her hands and bent down so she could kiss him on the cheek.

“Lookin’ good, Dana,” Dean greeted her. He pulled back and reached for Sam. “This is my brother, Sam.”

Sam held out his hand and received a warm, firm handshake. Dana Scully was a lot stronger than she looked and when her eyes met his, Sam knew that meant more than the physical too.

“It’s so good to finally meet you, Sam,” Dana greeted him. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

The two men with her stepped forward, making it clear who the ‘we’ was intended to include. The taller one was older, but that didn’t make him any less physically imposing. Sam had a feeling he could give either one of the Winchester brothers a run for the money. The shorter one appeared to be Dana Scully’s age, maybe ten years or so older than Dean. When Sam got a good look at that one’s languid, assessing gaze, he had a feeling that maybe it wasn’t Dana Scully he should have been warned about Dean having a past relationship with.

Dana noticed him noticing her men.

“And these are my husbands. Walter Skinner,” she nodded towards the older man. “And Fox Mulder.”

“Foxy,” Dean nodded at Mulder and then looked at Skinner. “It’s good to see you again, Sir.”

Sam was startled, not having heard his brother use ‘sir’ with anyone other than his father. Well, not use it like he meant it, anyway. 

“Hi,” Sam belatedly said, realizing that he had yet to say anything.

Dana gave him a slight smile. “Since we’re the only ones here, let’s sit in the lobby and talk. It’ll be more comfortable than trying to squeeze all of us into one of the exam rooms.”

Everyone realized the practicality of her suggestion and soon they were seated in the surprisingly comfortable lobby chairs. 

“Okay, Sam, I’m going to tell you the same thing I told Dean,” Dana started the conversation, seeming to sense the Winchesters’ lingering feelings of awkwardness. “I’m a fully qualified medical doctor. Ob/Gyn isn’t my specialty, but the friend that’s letting us use his clinic will be able to help me analyze test results and the like, if I run into anything I can’t handle. If that happens, I’ll just show him the test results; he won’t need to be told that the pregnant individual is male and not female.”

“Sounds good,” Sam said gratefully. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure,” her nose crinkled when she smiled. 

“How did it happen?” Mulder asked. Sam had noticed that the other man seemed to be particularly eager and apparently he couldn’t hold his curiosity in any longer.

“Mulder,” Skinner’s voice was a low rumbled warning.

“It’s all right, I know how Foxy is,” Dean assured him. “It was some sort of fertility idol.”

Sam could have sworn he saw Mulder’s ears, literally, perk up.

“Really?” Mulder responded. “Where is it?”

Skinner interrupted before either of the brothers could answer. “Mulder, you don’t need to know.”

“But-. . . . “

“No,” this time, the objection came from both Skinner and Dana, causing their husband to subside. From his mulish expression, though, it was still weighing on his mind.

“Tell me everything,” Dana instructed. After shooting an amused glance at her younger husband, however, she clarified. “Everything but the location of the idol, that is.”

So they told the story. Mostly, Sam let Dean do the talking, picking up the thread of the tale only when Dean’s voice got tired. He watched the other three closely, trying to judge their reactions. His observations confirmed the vibe he was picking up; these people believed them. Not only that, but they believed without judging. Sam could see why Dean wanted to turn to Dana Scully and her partners for help.

“And that’s about it,” Dean finally wound down. “We got in to Richmond last week and found a place to stay. Sam has a job and I’ve got some work too. We figure on being there until after, you know, the baby is born.”

Dana nodded. “All right, then. I think I know all I need to before doing a physical exam.” She stood and gestured for Dean to follow.

Dean stood a little more slowly and Sam was right behind him. He had no intention of letting his brother go through this alone. Dana led them down a short corridor and into an exam room. Dean paled when he saw the stirrups on the exam table, but obediently started removing his clothes when instructed to. Dana left the room to give him some privacy and Sam took advantage of it to pull Dean into his arms for a hug.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Sam reassured him. “Dana’s great, I’m glad you thought of asking her to be your doctor.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “A pregnant man’s small potatoes compared to what she’s seen.”

“And Mulder?” Sam asked. “Is he always like that?”

“Weird stuff gives him a hard-on,” Dean explained. “He’s the one that’s really behind them getting the wacko cases.”

Sam nodded, he’d been able to tell that just from their limited conversation with the man and was glad that Dean had left out the part about his own developing psychic abilities. “Why do you call him Foxy?”

Dean grinned. “Because he hates it and he was bein’ kind of a prick when we first met.”

A quick knock on the door alerted them to the fact that Dana was back. Dressed in a gown, Dean perched on the edge of the table and gave her a game smile when she reentered the room.

“I was just telling Sam here that you’d been looking for an excuse to get me naked,” Dean teased. 

“Well, I think this is a little extreme, don’t you think?” She retorted, but Sam could see that she wasn’t only amused, but also probably knew that Dean was joking because he was nervous. “Okay, Dean. Here’s a phrase I’ve been dying to use on you: lay back and relax. This won’t hurt a bit.”

It didn’t hurt, from what Sam could tell. Dana poked and prodded and asked a lot of questions, many of them embarrassing, but no real pain was involved. Much to Dean’s discomfiture, the stirrups were used, but only long enough for Dana to determine that there was no vaginal passage.

“So how’s the baby going to come out?” Dean asked.

“I’ll probably do a C-Section,” she explained and Dean sighed with a huge poof of expelled air.

“I had visions of an alien kind of thing,” he explained. He put his hand under his gown and mimed something trying to claw its way out. “I’d rather be cut open.”

“Are you a surgeon, then?” Sam asked. “You said you weren’t an Ob/Gyn.”

“Not exactly,” Dana explained. “I’ve done a lot of autopsies, though, so I’m good with a knife.”

Sam swallowed. His baby was going to be delivered by someone more used to cutting open dead people instead of ushering in new life; that wasn’t very reassuring. Dean must have heard the small sound, because he reached up and patted Sam on the arm.

“It’s okay, dude,” he reassured his brother. “She knows what she’s doing, trust me.”

After the basic exam was over, Dana took them to another room.

“Normally, an ultrasound isn’t done this early, but given the special circumstances, I thought we should,” she explained as she indicated the exam table she wanted Dean on. “You did drink the water I told you to, right?”

“Right,” Dean confirmed. “And I’m feelin’ it right about now too.”

Sam came to stand by Dean’s side and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder as Dana got the machine running. She picked up a squirt bottle and lifted Dean’s gown.

“I’m sorry, this is going to be cold,” she apologized. “Normally they have it heated, but with the clinic closed and all . . . .”

“Don’t worry, I’m man enough to take it,” Dean boasted and then gasped as the gel hit his belly. Sam winced in sympathy. To have something cold touch your skin when your bladder was already protesting would not be a lot of fun.

And then the pictures started showing on the monitor and Sam pretty much forgot anything else.

It didn’t look like a baby. It didn’t look like much of anything and that worried Sam until he got a look at Dana’s face. She was perfectly calm, showing only a professional interest that Sam found soothing.

“Look, right here,” Dana pointed to a blob on the screen. “You have a uterus, Dean.”

“Peachy, just what I always wanted,” Dean grunted sarcastically, but Sam could see the worry in his eyes. “Does everything look okay?”

Her smile was unhesitant, reassuring them both. “As far as I can tell, your pregnancy is progressing normally. Well, barring the absence of all the female organs except the uterus. The fetus appears to be perfectly normal.”

Sam let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding and, from the sigh coming from his brother, Dean did the same. Dean reached up and, without even needing to think about it, Sam took his hand and held it.

Dana started pointing out things that the ultrasound was showing and Sam was glad for it, because the grainy picture was pretty much indecipherable to him. Every once in a while, she’d click a button and the machine next to the ultrasound equipment would spit out an image.

“Unfortunately, it’s too early to determine the sex of the baby,” Dana wrapped up her explanation. “We’ll do another ultrasound when you’re a little further along and, if you want to, maybe we’ll find out then.”

“We already know,” Dean informed her. “It’s a boy. Sammy said so.”

She looked at him in curiosity and Sam shrugged. “I just know,” he said simply.

Apparently, it was clear that he didn’t want to talk about it, because she didn’t press for details. She just handed them some of the ultrasound photos and, after Dean made a quick side trip to the bathroom, led them to yet another room. It was a lab, really, where Dana drew what was, in Dean’s opinion, far too much blood.

“Get used to it,” she replied remorselessly. “The biological reason that siblings don’t usually procreate is that they’re too close genetically. I’ll be monitoring you in every way that I can think of.” When the brothers blanched, she was quick to reassure. “The ultrasound is perfectly normal. I don’t think we have anything to be concerned about. I’ll be doing the Triple Test anyway and if any genetic anomalies are suspected, then we’ll talk about the possibility of amniocentesis. It’s probably unnecessary, based on what I saw in the ultrasound, but I just want to be careful.” 

“Damn straight,” Dean agreed and Sam just nodded his head mutely.

Dana had some processing she wanted to get done right away, so she sent the men back to the initial exam room so Dean could get dressed. As instructed, they went back to the lobby, where Skinner was waiting patiently. Mulder was there too, but he was on his cell phone, speaking to someone in a low voice in a language that sounded a lot like Russian.

“How did it go?” Skinner asked them. 

“Great,” Dean responded immediately. “Dana says everything’s looking good.”

“That’s wonderful,” Skinner smiled, the expression lighting up his whole face. He looked a lot less like a FBI agent when he smiled.

“Your wife has a really reassuring bedside manner,” Sam added. “We really appreciate the time all of you took to see us.”

Skinner waved off his thanks. “It’s our pleasure. Us spooks of the world have to stick together.”

“Who’s he talking to?” Dean gestured to Mulder. It looked like the other agent’s phone call was winding up.

“Our newest husband,” Skinner replied, voice full of fond pride. “Alex Krychek.”

“Huh,” Dean commented. “Another one?”

Skinner grinned. “I think Alex will be it. Between him and Fox, Dana and I have our hands full.”

“And that’s just the way you like it,” Mulder drawled as he pocketed his phone and approached the other men.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Skinner agreed affably, pulling Mulder in for a one-armed hug. He kissed the younger man on the temple and turned back to the Winchesters. “Have you told your father about the baby?”

“Hell, no.” Dean’s voice was flat and his tone brooked no argument.

“You’ll have to tell him sometime, won’t you?” Mulder asked. “Your dad’s an observant man, he’ll notice eventually.”

“We’re planning on waiting until after the baby’s born,” Sam explained. “He won’t have to know that Dean was the one that gave birth. Or that I’m the father.”

Skinner was shaking his head. “Sounds a little lonely to me. Look, I know your dad’s a hard-ass, but he loves his sons. I think you’re selling him short.”

The Winchester brothers looked at each other briefly. They could see the truth of what the older man was telling them, but neither of them could imagine actually telling their father that not only were they sleeping together, but also that a child had resulted.

“You’re not going to tell him, are you?” Dean asked.

“No, of course not,” Skinner assured him. “Just promise me you’ll think about it, okay?”

That, at least, they could do. Both Winchesters nodded and that seemed to satisfy Skinner.

“All right, I think we’re all set,” Dana’s voice preceded her into the lobby. “I’ve got the processing started and I’ll call you when the results are in.”

“Okay, we’re done here?” Dean asked. He looked every bit as eager to get out of there as Sam felt. They had a lot to process, emotionally.

Dana’s smile was full of understanding. “We’re done. For now.”

The Winchesters took their leave of the three FBI agents and made their way back to the Impala with much lighter hearts. As usual, Dean got behind the wheel, but before he could start the car, Sam stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Wait a minute,” Sam requested. 

While Dean looked at him inquiringly, Sam stretched over the front seat to root around in the back. It didn’t take long to uncover the small cooler he’d hidden with a blanket and Sam was soon sitting properly in the passenger seat, a bottle of chilled sparkling apple cider in one hand and two glasses in the other.

“Time to celebrate,” Sam grinned widely as he uncorked the bottle. “Here’s to having a healthy baby.”

Dean shook his head in disgust that Sam knew was wholly feigned. “Pretend champagne, Sam? You really are a girl, aren’t you?”

“If you say so,” Sam humored him, knowing that Dean was as deeply relieved as he was at Dana’s preliminary examination. He poured them each a glass and gave Dean one before lifting his own in a toast. “To our son.”

His brother pulled the ultrasound pictures out of the shirt pocket he’d stashed them in. He carefully arranged them on the dash and then tapped his glass against Sam’s.

“To our boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted August 18, 2006


	9. Hormones are Bad

Since Dean was working from home and Sam wasn’t, they’d decided it would be easier for Dean to do the majority of the cooking. They split the rest of the chores and Sam ended up with the ones involving the heavy-duty cleaning. Ostensibly, it was because of the baby, but Sam had his doubts. The only thing Dean enjoyed cleaning was his guns; scrubbing bathrooms was not exactly his brother’s forte. Sam didn’t protest, though. Dean was doing more than his fair share, just by carrying their child; if he got some amusement out of thinking he’d pulled a fast one over on his little brother, Sam didn’t really mind.

So Dean usually cooked and was actually quite good at it. Thanks to Dana Scully’s nutritional advice, the meals were healthier than the typical macaroni and cheese or SpaghettiO’s that they grew up on. Sam, wisely, kept his mouth shut when milk started appearing regularly on the table, just drinking down his own glass without any comment whatsoever.

On the weekends, they cooked together and that was fun. Sam was a recipe-follower, where Dean was more intuitive, adding a dash of this and that on a whim. Their concoctions didn’t always have mouth watering appeal, but they were edible. Usually.

Once a week, though, Sam brought dinner home with him as a way to give Dean a break. The ribs he’d picked up probably were not as healthy a choice as Dana would have liked her patient to have, but the way Sam figured, everyone needed a break once in a while.

“Hey, Dean, you hungry?” Sam grinned as he called out the question. Hungry was almost a given all the time, where Dean was concerned. Sam couldn’t tease him about it too much, though. His construction work was hard labor, so Sam’s appetite usually matched his pregnant brother’s.

Sam heard a faint noise from the living room, but no other response to his entrance. Dumping the take-out bags on the kitchen table, he made his way to the other room. What he saw there rocked his world.

“Dean?”

His brother was sitting on the couch, with his feet pulled up and his arms wrapped around his knees. This was a far cry from his normal, sprawling posture, but what was really upsetting was the fact that he was crying. Not just crying, but sobbing as though his world was ending.

Sam was across the room before he was even aware of moving. “Dean? Tell me what’s wrong. Are you okay? Is it the baby?” Each question got him a shake of the head, but Dean was still weeping too hard to speak. “Has something happened to Dad?”

Dean flapped a hand at the television and started crying harder.

Perplexed and worried in equal measure, Sam turned to look at the screen. Credits were rolling by, making it obvious that a movie or television show had just finished. Dean was doing some data entry from home for a big insurance company and it wasn’t unusual for him to have the television on for background noise.

The crying, though, was unusual. Extremely so. Dean Winchester didn’t cry. He’d tear up now and again, but Sam hadn’t actually seen any drops fall from his brother’s eyes since . . . well, since he didn’t know when.

“Dean,” Sam knelt next to his brother and took Dean’s face into his hands. “Calm down, tell me what’s wrong.”

Dean responded to the soothing tone of Sam’s voice. He took deep gulps of air, which slowed his sobs a little. “It’s. . . it’s so sad.”

“What’s sad, Dean?” Sam asked gently. He ran his thumb over Dean’s quivering lower lip. “Tell me.”

“Th-the movie,” Dean stammered through his tears. “Brian was working under-undercover and Dom didn’t know and made him part of the racing team an’ and the kid died.”

Sam frowned, trying to make sense of his brother’s babbling. “Dean, are you talking about ‘The Fast & The Furious’?”

“Y-yeah,” Dean confirmed, sniffing hard. “And Brian, he let Dom go and gave him his car and everything. Isn’t that the saddest thing you ever heard?”

It was about the farthest thing from it, actually, but Sam wasn’t going to tell Dean that. He was far too freaked by the way his brother was acting.

“Dean, it’s just a movie,” Sam tried to settle down the other man. “You shouldn’t get yourself so worked up over it.”

“I kn-know that, Sammy,” Dean snapped as he scrubbed the tears from his face. “I’m not dumb. He’d begun to get himself under control, but the longer their discussion went on, the more he worked himself up. “I just can’t, can’t help it.”

That admission, that Dean couldn’t help himself, cleared things up a bit for Sam. Hormones. Dana had pulled Sam aside during the last exam and explained that Dean might have mood swings as his body tried to compensate for carrying a child. When Sam had asked what to do, she’d just shrugged and told him to support Dean any way he could.

“I know you’re not dumb,” Sam told him softly. “This isn’t you, Dean, it’s the hormones. They’re making you a little more emotional than you’d be normally.”

Dean sniffed again. “You think so?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sam said with feeling. “I know so.” He got up from his knees and sat next to Dean on the couch. “You’ll be back to your no-chick-flicks self in no time.”

“Good,” Dean leaned against Sam. “Because this bein’ a pussy’s not fun at all.”

“You’re not a pussy, you’re pregnant,” Sam corrected him.

Dean snorted. “You usually can’t have one without the other.”

“Well, you’re an exception to many things,” Sam kissed him gently.

“Lucky me,” Dean retorted and then yawned widely.

“Come on,” Sam got up and held out his hands to his brother. “Let’s take a nap before dinner.”

Dean took the help and, with a grunt, they got him to his feet. “What about chow?”

Sam shrugged. “It can wait until later.” As they walked through the kitchen, Sam left Dean’s side long enough to grab the bags with the food and put them in the fridge. “There. It’ll be ready when we are.”

As Sam walked to the bedroom, he couldn’t help but think of the situation. He wanted this baby with all of his heart, they both did, but Sam had to admit that he wished it weren’t so hard on Dean. The physical changes were bad enough, but if there were too many more hormone storms, Sam worried about Dean’s mental health. Dean kept his emotions close, weeping uncontrollably would be deeply embarrassing to him.

Ignoring it would probably be Dean’s preferred method of handling the whole thing, but Sam couldn’t bring himself to do that. Dean deserved more. 

“Come on, lie down with me,” Sam cajoled when they got into the room. He put action to words and spread himself out on the mattress, reaching for Dean beseechingly.

Dean groaned, but managed to get down on the bed. His normally athletic body was a little more ungainly than normal, but he still situated himself into Sam’s arms. Sam settled them so that Dean’s back was to his chest. Sam snaked an arm down between then and slowly rubbed circles on Dean’s back.

“Mmmm . . .” Dean purred. “Feels nice.”

“Good,” Sam responded firmly. 

Dean was wiped out by the emotional outburst and was already halfway asleep. “Y’know, Sammy, I’d give you my car if you needed a quick get away, like Brian did with Dom.”

Sam grinned, knowing just how deep of a compliment he’d just been paid. “Thanks, but it’d never happen.”

“Why?” Dean turned slightly so he could look Sam in the eye.

“Because you wouldn’t need to give me the car, you doofus,” Sam explained. “I’d never make a get away without you, you’d be right there with me.”

“Oh. That’s all right then.” Dean’s grin was slow and had a bit of a bite to it. “And I’d be driving, because if you put a scratch on the Impala, I’d have to kill you.”

At that comment, Sam relaxed. He’d take a sarcastic Dean over a weepy Dean any day of the week. He was just glad that, this time, the tears hadn't lasted too long. There were months to go in Dean’s pregnancy, no doubt they’d be riding the hormone rollercoaster again before it was all over.

But he had a feeling that the ride would definitely be worth it.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on August 18, 2006


	10. Cloud Gazing

“I think it’s a dragon. See, there’s the snout and over there’s the wings.”

“No way, Sammy. It’s a crossbow and a knife.”

“You see a knife in fluffy white clouds?” Sam grinned up at his brother. “Anybody tell you that you’re seriously warped? I worry about you raising kids.”

Dean just smirked, not at all offended by the teasing. “You should have thought of that before you knocked me up, dude.”

It was a rare warm Saturday, given the season. Knowing that Dean was going stir crazy from being cooped up in the apartment so much, Sam had suggested a picnic. Well, actually, he’d suggested a drive, knowing that Dean would never agree to something as girly as a picnic. His plan worked. Dean liked the idea and Sam simply made sure they had food along, always a good idea since Dean was eating for two and had the appetite to prove it.

Dean had done most of the driving, but when his stomach started rumbling, Sam had directed him to find an out-of-the-way place to stop. It wasn’t hard to do, since they both preferred meandering back roads instead of the freeway. They’d had a pleasant lunch in a deserted park and were sitting in the sunshine on a blanket, looking up at the clouds and telling each other what they saw there. Dean was sitting tilted with his arms propped behind him, legs stretched out to pillow his brother. Sam had his head resting on what was left of Dean’s lap. Since no one else was around, Dean had his coat open, and Sam was enjoying the closeness to Dean and the baby.

“Junior’s gonna have a real unusual upbringing,” Dean added. “He might as well get used to it now.” 

Sam nodded, resigned to that idea. Despite feeling like he’d been fighting his whole life against the way they were raised, he’d come to value some of the things their father had done. If nothing else, he and Dean had learned what not to do with their own child. Sam was confident that they could raise him in safety, but with more normalcy than what they’d enjoyed.

Something else about Dean’s comment, though, got Sam to thinking.

“You know, we’re going to have to come up with a name at some point,” Sam commented. “Unless you really want to name him Dean Jr.”

“Oh, hell no,” Dean replied. “Tacking on a ‘junior’ to a name is a sure-fire way to get a kid beat up at school.” He grinned as he clarified. “Not our boy, he’s going to be able to clean anybody’s clock, but the unfortunate snot who tried to make trouble about his name.”

“Okay,” Sam grinned back. “To avoid future visits to the principal’s office to discuss our son defending his name on the school playground, no Junior. Do you have any ideas?”

Dean’s smile faded and he looked away. “I was thinking about Jesse,” he swallowed before continuing. “You know, for Jessica.”

Sam’s own throat felt tight. Dean tried so hard to come off as an insensitive jerk and, honestly, a lot of that was absolutely natural, but he was more sensitive than he liked people to think. Every once in a while, like now, that fact slapped Sam in the face.

His silence, while he thought about his brother’s suggestion, unnerved Dean.

“You hate it, right?” Dean was looking at Sam again and his expression was worried.

“No, I don’t hate it,” Sam replied. “I loved Jess and I still want to find the thing that killed her and make it pay. . . but as much as I loved her, Jessica was my past. You and the baby, you’re my present and my future. I’d like our son’s name to reflect that.”

Dean looked away and Sam could see the muscles of his jaw working. Sam stayed silent a few moments, giving Dean a chance to compose himself. The hormones still made his brother a little more susceptible to his emotions that Dean was comfortable with and Sam had learned to give him a little space to cope with it. Only a little, though.

“Is there any name you prefer?” Sam asked gently. “Any that you wanted the baby to have just because you liked it?”

To his surprise, his brother answered him.

“I kind of like the name Michael,” Dean admitted. “It’s classy, but not snotty. Mikey’s good for a kid and when you hear the name Mike for a grown-up, it just sounds like a stand-up kind of guy.” He grinned and winked at Sam. “And then there’s Michael for when he’s in trouble with the missus.” 

Sam nodded, rolling the name around in his mind. “And Michael was one of the archangels. It’s a good, strong name. Michael it is, then.”

Dean’s smile was oddly shy. “And what about a middle name? Sammy, is there anything you like?”

Like Dean, Sam had been thinking about the subject, although this was the first they’d talked about it. 

“How about David?” Sam suggested. “It means beloved.”

Sam couldn’t think of a better name. Not only did it describe how very much this baby was loved by the two of them, it also reflected his feelings for the child’s father.

“Michael David,” Dean tried the name out and then grinned widely. “I like it.” He looked down at his stomach. “What do you think, kid?”

As close as he was to Dean’s belly, Sam could feel their son kick. “Well, I guess it’s unanimous then.”

“I guess so,” Dean said ruefully as he rubbed his stomach.

Perfectly content, the two men went back to their cloud gazing, Michael David Winchester a real and much-loved presence between them.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted August 20, 2006


	11. Hormones are Good

Sam groaned as he used a towel to wipe steam off the bathroom mirror. His own haggard reflection stared back at him.

“He’s going to kill you,” he whispered hoarsely to himself. “You know that, right?”

Talking to yourself was never a good sign, but Sam was too tired to care. His exhaustion wasn’t caused by his job, although that was a part of it. Construction work was hard physical labor, but Sam had been in excellent shape to begin with and his body had soon adjusted.

The problem was his brother; Dean had become a sex fiend.

Dean had always enjoyed sex, something that had driven Sam mad with jealousy before they’d become lovers, but that he’d reaped the benefits of once they were a couple. In the first trimester of his pregnancy, Dean was feeling too crappy and rundown to want anything more intimate than being held while he slept. Sam had endured. Once the morning sickness had passed, though, that had changed. Like flipping a switch, Dean’s libido came back and came back with a vengeance.

At first, Sam had enjoyed his lover’s renewed vigor. Sam had understood and sympathized with Dean’s lack of desire early in the pregnancy, but had still keenly missed their physical relationship. At first when Dean regained his lustiness, Sam had been thrilled to be awakened by something a lot more warm and inviting than an alarm clock. He’d thoroughly enjoyed having company in the shower, getting pounced on the moment he walked in the door after work, and being Dean’s ‘dessert’ after dinner.

Young and healthy as he was, though, even Sam’s endurance had its limits. His dick, although very happy with the situation, was beginning to feel like it was going to fall off and Sam was far too embarrassed about the situation to ask Dana for advice. Besides, it was sex with Dean; there was no such thing as too much. Maybe, instead of hiding out in the bathroom, he’d just have to answer one of the zillion spam email messages he got and actually order some Viagra.

“Yo, Sammy!”

Sam nearly jumped out of his skin when Dean started banging on the bathroom door.

“What?” He replied.

“You gonna stay in there all night?” Dean called out. “We got body fluids to exchange, positions to try.”

Sam closed his eyes and leaned against the sink. “Just give me a minute, okay?”

“How ‘bout I give you an incentive,” his brother offered.

The bathroom door opened a crack, just enough for Dean’s arm to snake through. Dangling from his grip was a padded pair of handcuffs, the same ones Sam’d used in his ill-advised attempt to keep Dean from following him on a hunt.

“C’mon, Sam,” Dean coaxed through the door. “I’ll let you make it up to me, for cuffing me to the bed that time and then just leaving me high and dry . . .”

Sam licked his lips, a new wave of energy washing through him at the thought. “I’m coming.”

Dean’s throaty chuckle was clearly audible. “I bet you will be.”

As he hastened to leave the bathroom and join his brother, Sam caught another look at himself in the mirror. He did look tired, but glowing too.

Yeah, if this pace kept up much longer, Dean just might kill Sam with too much sex. . . but what a way to go.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted August 21, 2006


	12. Discovery

Dean Winchester did not respond well to hovering. Having his head bitten off — twice — for trying, Sam sat on the motel bed and waited. He chewed his thumbnail, foot tapping with impatience, as his mind went a mile a minute. Dean didn’t want to admit it, but there was something wrong and Sam was pretty sure he knew what it was. If he was right, then Dean was just going to have to get used to hovering, because there was going to be an awful lot of it going on for about the next eight months or so.

The sound of retching continued, muffled by the bathroom door. As it did, Sam’s resolve grew. Dean was going to listen this time.

Finally, the door opened and Dean stepped out. His face was white as a ghost, except for the tinge of green around his mouth. With an arm wrapped around his stomach, Dean shuffled over to the bed and dropped down onto the mattress.

“Man,” he groaned, the other arm flung across his eyes. “Must have had a bad burrito last night or something.”

“Or something,” Sam repeated, voice dark with concern.

“What?” Dean moved his arm just enough that he could look at Sam from underneath it. “Lighten up, dude, it’s just a little food poisoning.”

“This is the fourth day, Dean,” Sam countered.

Dean shrugged, covering his eyes again. “Okay, maybe it’s a lot of food poisoning.”

Sam sighed. If figured that they’d have to do this conversation the hard way. “You’re tired all the time. You’re queasy, but only in the morning. Your back hurts, your head hurts, and you’re lightheaded.”

“Huh, didn’t know I was whining that much,” Dean commented. He sighed and gave up on staying prone. Scooting, he moved up on the bed until he was sitting with his back to the headboard. “I’ll try to suck it up. But, really, Sam it’s just a touch of the flu.”

“Your areolas are dark.”

Dean frowned. “Say that again.”

“Your nipples, Dean,” Sam explained. “They’re darker in color.”

His brother pulled out the neck of his t-shirt and looked down. “Huh. The fellas are a little rosier than normal, I’ll give you that.” In spite of the continued greenness in his face, he grinned at Sam. “That’s just because you like chewing on them, you dog.”

Sam shook his head. “You haven’t let me touch you there in a week. Your breasts are too sensitive right now.”

Dean sighed, clearly not as worried as his brother, but willing to humor him. “Just spit it out, Sam. If you think I have some horrible disease or something, just tell me what you think it is.”

“It’s not a disease, Dean,” Sam spoke gently. “I think you’re pregnant.”

The room was silent for a full thirty seconds and then Dean started to laugh.

“You had me goin’ there for a minute, Sammy.” He congratulated his brother as the laughter wound down to chuckles. 

Sam didn’t even crack a smile. “I’m not kidding, Dean.”

Dean’s grin slipped. “Oh, come on, Sam. I know I taught you better than that about the birds and the bees.” When Sam just shook his head, Dean rolled his eyes. “I’ll spell it out for you. I pee standing up, therefore I can’t have a baby. I’m not a pussy and I mean that both figuratively and literally.”

“I have two words for you, Dean,” Sam stated flatly. “New Mexico.”

It took a moment for Dean to follow the reference. “That fertility idol? That was a load of bull and you know it.” He took a close look at Sam’s expression. “It was bull, wasn’t it?”

Sam opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Dean sat forward quickly. “Sammy.”

“I — I think it was legit,” Sam admitted. “I got this vibe off the statue.”

“Vibe?” Dean demanded. “What the hell does that mean?”

“That means that I felt some sort of energy there,” Sam explained. “I think the legends were right, it could have the power to make people pregnant.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “When did you realize that you had this ‘vibe,’ Sammy? Just lately?”

Sam winced. “No, while we were in New Mexico.”

“What the fu-. . .” Dean exploded off the bed and started pacing. “And you let me touch that freaky thing? What the hell were you thinking?”

“’Let you’ touch it?” Sam asked in disbelief. “Let had nothing to do with it. I had no idea you were going to get up close and personal with a known fertility idol.”

“Which I wouldn’t have done, had I known there was even a snowball’s chance it was real.” Dean stopped his agitated steps and ran a hand through his hair. “Shit.”

“Look, we’re both at fault here,” Sam offered and then hastened to continue when Dean glowered at him. “Me more than you. It doesn’t matter at this point anyway.”

“That’s easy for you to say, Sammy,” Dean shot back. “You’re not the one contemplating a bun in the oven.”

Sam got up and went to where his duffle was stowed. After retrieving it, he got out a plastic bag and spilled its contents all over the bed. A half dozen boxes of various sizes and colors lay piled haphazardly. Intrigued despite of his anger, Dean picked up one and read it.

“Pregnancy test?” Dean asked as he realized what the boxes contained. “You want me to take a friggin’ pregnancy test?”

”If you use them correctly,” Sam said in his best teacher’s voice, “they’re almost as accurate as the blood test done in the doctor’s office. One way or another, they should give us an idea if you really are. Pregnant, that is.”

“You know about this shit?” Dean asked crossly. “You really are a girl, Sam.”

Sam didn’t take the comment personally, knowing that the sarcasm was the most finely tuned defense mechanism that his brother possessed.

“Look, what would you rather do?” Sam pointed out. “Go visit a doctor? You’d end up either committed for being mentally unbalanced or sold out to the media as the world’s first pregnant man.”

Dean sighed and glared at Sam. Finally, growling, he reached for the nearest box.

“Not that one,” Sam corrected him. He pointed to a different box. “That brand’s the most highly rated. Might as well start with the best.”

“Fine.” Dean grabbed it and headed for the bathroom. When he realized that Sam was following him, he turned and put a hand on his brother’s chest, stopping him. “No way. You stay out here, Vibe Boy.”

“Dean. . .”

“You don’t need to come in and hold my hand or anything else, either.” Dean was firm. “I think I can handle it.”

A few minutes later, the toilet was flushing and Dean came out holding the white plastic stick. Sam looked at his watch and, for the next five minutes, the two of them sat, silently, and waited for the seconds to tick by. Once the necessary time had passed, though, they just stared at one another, each afraid to look, but more afraid to admit it.

“This is stupid,” Dean finally exclaimed. 

He held the white stick out so they both could see it. There, in red, was a plus sign.

The silence in the room was shaky.

“Give me another one,” Dean’s voice was tight with tension. 

Sam didn’t argue, just blindly reached for the pile on the bed and handed him the next box. Grim, Dean took it and marched back into the bathroom. Sam didn’t try to follow this time, just stared at the shut door. He had a feeling he’d better get used to it; there were four more boxes still on the bed. Sam hoped Dean’s bladder was up to the task and then chuckled nervously at the thought.

The next hour was tense. Box after box, the results were all the same. Some showed it with just a line, others with a plus sign, but all showed positive.

When the last one was finished, Dean stood looking at the results for a long time. Sam reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, but Dean shrugged it off.

“I need to drive,” he growled, reaching for his car keys.

Sam stood. “I’ll go with you.”

Dean shook his head, not looking at his brother. “No, Sammy, not this time.”

“Dean,” Sam pleaded. “I don’t think you should be alone right now.”

“No, Sam,” Dean held firm. “You and your puppy dog eyes are staying right here.” He gave Sam an odd look. “I’m coming back, I promise. I just need to think.”

Sam watched his brother walk out of the motel room, an uncharacteristic slump to Dean’s shoulders. Blindly, Sam staggered back until the back of his knees hit the chair and he sat with a graceless thump. He wanted worse than anything in the world to get up and follow Dean, but he didn’t. That wasn’t what Dean wanted, so Sam stayed put.

For the next five hours, Sam sat, trying not to worry himself right out of his skin. His butt grew numb and his thumb ragged from the nervous chewing, but Sam didn’t move. The irony wasn’t lost on him. Four years ago, he’d walked away from his brother and now here he was, helpless to do anything but wait and pray that Dean would come back.

Luckily for Sam, he didn’t have to wait for years. Dean did return and Sam had never been happier than when he saw his brother come through the motel room door.

Dean’s face was haggard and his eyes were bright. He had a look of determination on his face, like he did on a hunt that was particularly dangerous. That made Sam nervous, so while he straightened in his chair, he didn’t say anything as Dean crossed the room and sat on the bed across from him.

“Right,” Dean said, as though they were in the middle of a conversation. “I’m pregnant.”

“You are?” Sam asked stupidly, stunned that Dean so readily admitted it. “I mean, what convinced you?”

“I might be a little hardheaded, but I’m not stupid, Sam.” Dean shrugged. “Six pregnancy tests, your vibe, and puking my guts out for four mornings in a row are all pretty good indicators.” 

There didn’t seem to be anything to say to that, so Sam stayed silent.

“So now that I’m in the family way,” Dean continued, “we have to get a couple of things straight.”

Sam gulped. “Like what?”

Dean looked him in the eye. “I’m a Winchester. Winchester’s hunt. I’m not giving that up, even after I’m a mommy.”

“But Dean, what about the baby?” Sam questioned. “Will that be safe?”

His brother rolled his eyes. “I don’t mean that I’m going to strap the kid on my back like a papoose and take it into a hunt.” Dean’s voice was exasperated as he clarified for his brother. “I just mean that I’m never going to be a white picket fence kind of guy, Sammy. Hunting’s always going to be part of my life. Maybe I’ll have to modify the way I do things, but I’m not giving it up.”

“Okay,” Sam smiled in relief, but that expression faded when he got a good look at Dean’s face. “What? Did you think I was going to leave you again?”

”The thought had been on my mind,” Dean admitted. “There’s a precedent for it.”

Sam shook his head. “No way. I told you, Dean, back when we got together that I wouldn’t ever leave you again. Me and you, together, that’s the way it’s going to be.”

”And the normal life you’ve been jones-ing for?” Dean insisted. “I have to know, Sam.”

”Don’t you know by now?” Sam asked, shaking his head. “You are my normal, Dean.”

Dean looked at him steadily and then, to Sam’s immense relief, slowly nodded. “Okay.”

“So, what else?” Sam asked. “You said we had a couple of things to get straight.”

“Oh,” Dean shrugged. “Just that if you ever, and I mean ever, refer to me as ‘the little woman,’ I will kick your ass.”

“That’s it?” Sam asked incredulously. 

“Let’s see, hunting and no ‘little woman,’” Dean ticked off the points on his fingers. “Yeah,that about covers it.”

Overwhelmed with feelings of joy and relief, Sam slipped off his chair and knelt before his brother. “Dean, we’re going to be fathers. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Yeah, a real miracle,” Dean’s voice cracked on its usual sarcasm. 

For a brief moment, Sam got a glimpse of naked need on the other man’s face and it all made sense. The fertility goddess granted the wishes of women who wanted a child very much and very purely. Dean wasn’t female, but his feelings about family were about as pure as they could get. The deity hadn’t used the pregnancy as a way to punish Dean for being flippant about her idol, she’d granted a deeply buried wish.

“Can you imagine someone calling us Daddy?” Dean asked. He was smiling slightly and had one hand placed lightly on his stomach. “I feel sorry for the little bastard; we’re going to screw him up so bad.” 

Sam chuckled and laid his head in Dean’s lap. “Don’t worry about it; you’ll be a great dad. Remember Lucas? You got through to him when no one else could, including his mom and grandfather.”

Dean started stroking his fingers through Sam’s hair. “Sure, I’m great with traumatized kids, but I’m kinda hoping that ours doesn’t go through something like that.”

“We’re Winchesters,” Sam reminded him. “Any sort of spirit comes sniffing around our kid; we know how to deal with it.”

The reassurance made Dean smile, but then he looked horrified.

“What?” Sam asked, lifting his head off Dean’s lap a little. “What’s wrong?”

“It just occurred to me,” Dean explained. “This baby’s going to be Winchester from both sides. Double the stubbornness, double the hard-headedness.”

“Double the smarts,” Sam reminded him. “Double the courage.”

Dean thought about it and slowly relaxed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He smirked. “And don’t forget, double the good looks too, especially from his father’s side.”

Sam grinned and laid his head back down. “Humble much?”

Dean’s laugh was low and throaty. “Yeah, he’s going to be a real little shit all right.” His hand, which had gone back to carding through Sam’s hair, became tense. “Or she. Oh, God, Sammy what’ll we do if it’s a girl? I don’t know a damn thing about dolls and all that crap.”

“It’s a boy,” Sam turned his head just enough so he could look up at his brother. “I have a pretty strong vibe about that. I haven’t seen a vision or anything, but I’m pretty sure the baby is male.”

“A son, huh?” Dean went back to stroking Sam’s hair. “I can live with that.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “Me too.”

They both knew there would be plenty of issues ahead, despite Dean’s short list of only two things that had to be settled. They’d have to figure out prenatal care for Dean and the baby, how to hide his pregnancy and a million other things. None of them mattered at the moment.

But for the moment, just being together was enough.

 

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted August 22, 2006


	13. Driven

Sam was awakened, not by a noise, but by the emptiness in the bed beside him. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was the middle of the night and Dean was nowhere to be found. Sam rubbed the sleep from his eyes; this had been happening far too often lately.

Groaning softly, Sam got out of bed and, scratching his bare chest, made his way into the living room. Dean was spread out on the couch, the television on but muted as he idly flipped through channels. He apparently sensed Sam walk in and turned to look at his brother.

“Hey,” Dean said, voice laden with exhaustion. “I was hoping if I was quiet, you wouldn’t wake up.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam shrugged off Dean’s concern. “Another nightmare?” 

Dean looked away. “Yeah.”

When the nightmares started, they’d both been worried that maybe Sam’s precognitive abilities had rubbed off on Dean or that maybe pregnancy had trigged some sort of latent talent of his own. Given the nature of the dreams, or at least the parts of them that Dean was willing to talk about, that was a pretty daunting possibility. It wasn’t like they could turn to Dana for advice about it either, not and keep Sam’s own abilities a secret. Finally, Sam had done some research and found that many women experience strange and disturbing dreams while they were expecting. While not exactly comforting, at least Dean was aware that what he was experiencing wasn’t entirely abnormal.

“You want to talk about it?” Sam asked, not at all hopeful about what the answer would be.

He nudged Dean until his brother scooted over, giving Sam enough room, barely, to wedge himself behind Dean. Once positioned, Sam started rubbing soothing circles on Dean’s back.

“No,” Dean’s answer was as firm as it was curt.

“Okay,” Sam had learned not to push and contented himself by comforting his brother with his hands. It was with a great deal of satisfaction that he felt Dean’s tense body start to unwind and relax into his touch.

“Sammy?” 

“Mmmmm…” Sam murmured, rather hoping he could lure Dean into falling asleep.

“I don’t want to have barbeque sauce again for a while.” Dean’s voice sounded oddly small. “For a really long while. Like maybe never.”

Sam swallowed heavily. He could only imagine what kind of dream had prompted that sort of comment.

“Barbeque sauce will never darken our door again, I promise.” He vowed. 

“Damn shame because I love ribs too,” Dean groused. A shudder rippled through him, though, and Sam realized that the nightmare, whatever it was, hadn’t completely faded yet.

“Come on,” Sam encouraged his brother as he wiggled out from underneath Dean’s body. He stood and reached a hand down. “Let’s go for a drive.”

Dean looked incredulous. “Now? Sammy, it’s two o’clock in the morning.”

Sam shrugged and grinned. “So? It’s Saturday night and neither one of us has to get up early tomorrow. Besides, you got anything better to do?”

It took some more coaxing, but he eventually got Dean to agree. Sam put on a shirt and helped Dean with his shoes, but both of them were bundled up and out to the car in just a few minutes. Sam drove.

“Where are we going?” Dean asked, once they were underway. Metallica was playing in the background, more softly than normal in deference to the late hour.

“Damned if I know,” Sam grinned at the dirty look Dean shot him. “How long has it been since we just enjoyed the night? We’ve spent half of our lives out hunting after the sun’s gone down, but how long has it been since you could just appreciate it? Look at the moon, Dean, it’s beautiful.”

“You are certifiable, Sammy,” Dean grumbled, but Sam noticed that he was paying more attention to his surroundings and that the stress lines around his eyes were starting to relax.

Sam didn’t bother with anything bordering on I-told-you-so. Instead he guided the Impala onto some back roads. With the music playing quietly in the background, Sam told his brother inane stories about his construction work. He knew that Dean liked to hear about Sam’s job, not just because it was a part of Sam’s life that he couldn’t currently share, but also because he felt so isolated in the apartment. Even so, Sam didn’t think that Dean was interested in the amount of detail he was currently telling him. No, the important thing was just to talk in a soothing voice and hope that it helped chase away the vestiges of his brother’s dream.

After a few minutes, Sam realized that Dean was too quiet. When he turned to look, he found that Dean had fallen asleep, his head lolling against the seat. Sam smiled. He’d always heard that babies fell asleep readily in the car, but this was the first he’d heard of using the same trick on an adult. 

Sam looked down at the gas gauge and saw that they had almost a full tank. He hadn’t realized how much he missed being on the road with his brother. It felt right to be driving down the highway, just the two of them, even if Dean was currently asleep. As he’d said to Dean at the apartment, there was no immediate need to go back. Sam figured that he’d just drive until the gas was half gone and then turn around. With any luck, Dean would sleep the whole way; Lord knew he needed his rest.

Sam Winchester smiled and pressed down on the accelerator.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on August 23, 2006


	14. Headers and Ladders

“I’m looking for a patient, Sam Winchester?”

Sam winced at the sound of his brother’s voice. Damn. Hank had promised he wouldn’t call Dean. The accident really hadn’t been that bad and Sam hadn’t wanted Dean to worry. Unfortunately, it looked like that plan was shot to hell.

“Dean, I’m in here,” Sam called out, hoping that hearing him would at least reassure Dean that he wasn’t dying or anything.

He should have known better. 

Even before he was pregnant, Dean was a mother hen, in his sarcastic, hip way. The only thing that had changed since the pregnancy was that Dean was less flippant about it. Thankfully, with a steady job and no hunting, Sam had presented his brother with fewer occasions to fuss. Until now, that was. When Dean pulled back the Emergency Room cubicle curtain, Sam could see that all the color had been leached from the other man’s face, leaving him as white as the walls of the room.

“Hey,” Sam greeted him, moving to get up. From the looks of it, Dean needed the gurney more than he did.

Dean waved him back into place. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Sam assured him. “It was just a tumble off a ladder, Dean. They had to bring me to the hospital for a quick check, purely for insurance purposes.”

At that news, Dean closed his eyes and sagged against the door frame. Sam felt his stomach clench. He knew his boss meant well, but could happily throttle the man for unnecessarily worrying his brother.

“What?” He demanded. “Didn’t Hank tell you it was nothing?”

“He told me you fell off the ladder as you were climbing onto the roof,” Dean explained. “You could have cracked your skull open or broken your back.”

“But I didn’t,” Sam pointed out. “I landed on a pile of tarps.” He tried to smile. “It wasn’t quite as good as landing on a stack of featherbeds, but, hey, any fall you can walk away from. . .”

Dean didn’t smile back, but just then the doctor walked in and Sam couldn’t ask his brother what was going on in that head of his.

“Well, Mr. Winchester, we got your x-rays back and you are a very lucky young man,” she explained in a bright, cheerful voice. “There is no indication of any bone fractures or injuries to the head or internal organs. You’re going to be sore for a while, but other than that, you’re fine.”

”Can he go home?” Dean asked.

The doctor seemed startled to be addressed by someone other than Sam, but after looking at her patient and getting a nod of permission, she answered Dean’s question.

“I see no reason to keep him here,” she stated. “I would suggest waking him every couple of hours this evening. There was no sign of concussion, but he did lose consciousness for a few minutes.”

At that last comment, Dean turned accusing eyes on Sam, but Sam just grinned sheepishly and shrugged. Maybe the fall had rattled him a bit, because his puppy dog eyes didn’t appear to be at their most potent. In any case, Dean ignored his silent plea for forgiveness and glowered at him before returning his attention to the doctor.

Sam’s awareness turned inward as Dean got instructions from the physician. The accident had been a piece of stupidity. His foot had slipped off the rung and, quicker than he could yell out, he’d plummeted to the ground. The fall had knocked the wind out of him and, for a minute, Sam really thought he’d seriously hurt himself. The idea, however brief, that he might be taken away from Dean and the baby had shaken Sam badly. He’d begged his boss not to call his brother and tell him about the mishap. Obviously, something had gone wrong with that. Sam had never meant for Dean to become so stressed, especially when he wasn’t really hurt.

“Take care of yourself, Mr. Winchester,” the doctor offered him her hand and he gratefully shook it. “Watch your step with those ladders.”

“Yes, I will, thank you,” Sam promised, when what he really wanted to do was beg her to stay. Given the look in Dean’s eye, Sam didn’t really want to be left alone with his brother. Dean might have put away the knives and guns while their hunting was on hold, but the man’s tongue could be a weapon when he chose.

When it was just them in the cubicle, however, Dean surprised him.

“You need help getting dressed?” His brother asked. His face was devoid of expression.

“No, I think I can manage it.”

Dean nodded and scratched absently at his belly. “When Hank called, he said he’d have one of the other guys drive the car to the hospital. Gimme the keys and I’ll pull the Impala around.”

“How’d you get here?” Sam asked as he hopped off the bed.

“Cab,” Dean replied succinctly.

Wordlessly, Sam picked up his jeans and dug the keys out of the pocket. He did not like the idea of his distraught, pregnant brother taking a cab to the hospital, but he supposed it was better than the bus. With the pregnancy, they hadn’t wanted to risk Dean interacting with too many people and so he hadn’t really had anyone to call for a ride. Sam’s fingers brushed against Dean’s as he handed the keys over, but despite that, he couldn’t seem to connect with his brother. Dean merely nodded at him and left.

Sam’s groan as he hastily pulled his clothes on was not entirely due to the aches and pains he’d picked up, courtesy of the fall. There was one thing worse than Dean in full snark mode and that was Dean shut down. The problem with repressed emotions was that they didn’t stay that way; Dean was no different than anyone else in that regard. He’d tamp down his feelings until they wouldn’t compress anymore and then he’d explode. It put a lot of stress on him, especially now that he was pregnant, but Sam’s attempts to get Dean to deal with it tended to get brushed off as ‘chick flick moments.” 

With a limp he couldn’t completely disguise, Sam hastened out of the ER area. Dean was waiting for him outside, the Impala’s engine a familiar rumble. Dean did not look inclined to relinquish his spot behind the wheel, so Sam simply opened the door and climbed in the passenger’s side. He couldn’t help but smile at the way the door creaked and protested as it moved. It sounded exactly the way his body felt at the moment.

Conversation was nonexistent during their drive back to the apartment. Once they got inside, Dean turned drill sergeant.

“Get in the shower, Sam,” Dean ordered. “Those muscles are going to stiffen up if you don’t keep them loose.”

Sam would much rather have tried to talk to his brother, especially about why Dean seemed so angry with him. “Dean, I don’t-. . . .”

“Shower, Sam,” Dean barked, sounding remarkably like their father. “Now.”

There was no way that Sam could resist when Dean used that tone of voice. In spite of his internal objections, he headed for the bathroom and started stripping. The mirror was merciless. Already dark spots were showing up on his skin; by morning, no doubt he’d be as colorful as a box of crayons.

Muttering softly under his breath about bossy older brothers, Sam turned the water on and stepped under the warm stream. He hated to admit it, but Dean was right. The moist heat on his battered body felt like bliss. Sam just stood there, soaking it in, the washcloth hanging forgotten in his hands.

A blast of cooler air startled him. Sam jerked from his semi-dozing state to find that a naked Dean was joining him. Dean took the washcloth from Sam’s lifeless fingers and got it wet. Silent, he soaped it up and, once he had a good lather going, started rubbing the cloth against Sam’s skin.

That’s when Sam realized Dean wasn’t mad at him. Not when he used such a gentle touch as he washed him.

“Dean, are you okay?”

His brother snorted. “I wasn’t the one taking a belly flop off the roof.”

“The ladder,” Sam doggedly corrected him. “I fell off the ladder, not the roof.”

“Semantics, Sam,” Dean snapped at him as he continued washing Sam. If he hadn’t been angry before, Sam’s words clearly pissed him off. “You were moving from the ladder to the roof when it happened.”

“Why are you so upset?” Sam asked. “Worse things than this happened all the time when we were hunting and you just shrugged them off.”

“I wasn’t pregnant before,” Dean stated forcefully. The comment seemed to drain all the energy out of him. “I can’t lose you, Sam. I can’t do this by myself.”

Sam wrapped a hand around the back of Dean’s neck and drew his brother close enough so that, when Sam bent down, their foreheads were touching. “You’re not going to lose me, Dean. I’m right here, I’m fine, and I’m not going anywhere.”

”Sure,” Dean responded. “You’re fine as long as you don’t take any more headers off the roof.”

“Ladder,” Sam corrected him again and sighed. He put the other hand on Dean’s stomach, which was wet and slippery from the shower. “Michael, will you tell your father to chill out? I didn’t get hurt and I’ll be more careful in the future, he has nothing to worry about.”

His antics were rewarded with a small smile from Dean. Then, to Sam’s delight, Dean joined the game.

“And, Mikey, you just tell your dad that if he does something stupid like that again, I’ll kick his ass right back up onto the roof.” Dean considered. “Only, don’t use ‘ass.’ Say ‘butt’ or something.” 

Sam laughed. “Great, not only are we using the kid as a go-between before he’s even born, but you’re already teaching him to swear.”

Dean’s expression lightened even more. “He’s Winchester, doubled. He’ll probably have a mouth like a sailor.” Dean didn’t seem at all upset at that prospect.

They shared a tender kiss and, after it ended, Sam took the washcloth back from Dean. He soaped it up and then gently began washing Dean, like his brother had done for him a few moments before. Sam saved the pregnant belly for last, reverently sluicing water over the rounded shape and loving the way the drops rolled off.

“You are just way too obsessed with that,” Dean teased gently. This was hardly the first time that Sam had showed a high level of fascination when washing Dean’s stomach.

Sam didn’t try to deny it. “Hey, it’s our child. I’m just doing my fair share to take care of the baby.”

Dean snorted. “Try letting him wallop on your bladder for hours at a time, then tell me about doing your fair share.”

“You know I would if I could,” Sam replied softly. Sometimes he wished that he’d been the one to rub the fertility idol. Dean bitched occasionally about being pregnant, but there was no heat to it. Truthfully, Sam couldn’t remember a time when he’d seen his brother so happy.

“Stop falling off ladders,” Dean groused at him. “That’s your fair share right now, Sammy.”

“Okay, okay.” Sam held his hands up in surrender. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

Dean considered. “Probably not.” Then, more softly, “Getting that call scared the shit out of me.”

“Me too,” Sam admitted, talking about the fall itself, knowing that Dean would know what he meant.

“Then don’t do it again,” Dean instructed, his tone clearly indicating that he would brook no argument.

Sam turned off the water, which was starting to cool. “I won’t,” he promised. “I’ll be here for you and the baby, no matter what.”

And that promise had the solemn ring of a vow.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted August 24, 2006


	15. Grandpa John

“I can’t believe you’re hungry again,” Sam laughed as he unlocked the apartment door and stepped aside for Dean to enter. “We just ate.”

“We had dinner, like, over an hour ago,” Dean corrected him. He turned the light on and took off his coat, rubbing his bulging stomach with visible fondness. “That’s more than enough time for junior to work up an appetite again.”

The brothers were in a good mood. Not only was it a Friday, but it was a payday as well. They’d gone out to eat and for a short walk, the time away from the apartment doing Dean a world of good. He smiled readily at Sam and, although Dean would deny it vehemently should Sam be stupid enough to tell him about it, Dean had that pregnancy glow about him. It was a wonder that the whole neighborhood didn’t know he was carrying a child.

Even though Sam was the psychic one, it was Dean that noticed that something was wrong. Just as Sam opened his mouth to make a retort, Dean put a hand up, stopping him in his tracks.

“Who’s there?” Dean called out, a familiar note of command in his voice.

Sam tensed. His mind actually blanked for a moment on where the nearest weapon was. They were woefully out of practice. As his imagination bombarded him with too many ideas of what could be lying in wait, Sam cursed his stupidity. They’d chosen not to hunt, but had forgotten that they could still be the hunted ones.

“I guess now I know why you haven’t left any messages,” a voice drawled from the shadows.

A very familiar voice.

“Dad,” Dean sagged against Sam in relief. 

John Winchester stepped into the light. He hadn’t bothered to shave in days and needed a haircut. The effect made him look even more like a shaggy bear than usual. His eyes, though, were as bright as ever and at the moment they were pinned on Dean. Or, more specifically, on Dean’s stomach.

Sam resisted the urge to step protectively in front of his brother.

“When were you going to tell me?” John asked, since neither one of his sons seemed inclined to talk.

“After the baby was born,” Dean answered quietly.

“I see,” John nodded, face still a blank. “How’d it happen?”

“Fertility idol,” Dean replied succinctly. For all of his attempts to sound as nonchalant as their father, Sam could feel his brother shaking.

“Let me guess, you decided in your infinite wisdom that the thing was bogus and just had to touch it, to show it who was boss,” John said sarcastically. “Dean, how many times have I told you to leave well enough alone until you know exactly what you’re dealing with and to never, ever, underestimate the paranormal?”

Sam had thought the same thing himself at the time, but found himself bristling at his father’s words. He didn’t like hearing Dean get chastised, didn’t like it at all.

“And then after you fondled a fertility idol of unknown authenticity and potency,” John continued, his sarcastic laugh had an ugly sound to it. “You went out and got yourself laid, probably with the first cock that rose to the challenge. Do you even know who the father is?”

Sam was across the room without even thinking about it. Before he could take another breath, in fact, he had John’s coat lapels in his hands and was holding the other man up by them. Although John was a tall man, Sam was taller and his father’s feet dangled several inches above the floor.

“You don’t talk to him like that,” Sam’s voice was a growl, low and dangerous. “You don’t ever get to talk to him like that again.”

John’s face was inches from his, the oldest Winchester seemingly not bothered by the fact that the youngest was having no problem manhandling him. “Well, I guess that answers my question about who the father is.”

“Sam, stop it,” Dean’s voice was calm and the touch of Dean’s hand on his arm brought Sam back from the cold place that his anger had taken him. “Put him down.”

Because it was Dean that asked, Sam complied, although he was none too gentle about it. After Sam let him go, John stepped back and there was something new in his eyes when he glanced at Sam. Whether it was fear or respect, though, Sam couldn’t tell and didn’t much care.

“Was this,” John asked, his hand motioning between the two of them, “part of the fertility spell?”

It would have been an easy out, letting their father think that the sex that led to the conception of their child had been forced by some ancient deity. Even though it felt wrong to deny his feelings for Dean, Sam opened his mouth to confirm the lie. Their father’s approval didn’t mean all that much to Sam, but Dean was a different story.

Dean, however, replied before Sam had a chance.

“No,” Dean’s voice was steady. “This, as you call it, was entirely us. Still is, for that matter.”

The room was silent except for the sound for John’s harsh breathing.

“And that’s all you have to say for yourselves?” Their father demanded. “You’re brothers or have you forgotten that?”

“Did you forget?” Sam asked belligerently. “We were always your soldiers, not your sons. Was it any surprise that we’d turn to one another for love and affection?”

“Oh, hell, no” John shook his head. “You are not blaming me for this. I raised you better than that-. . .”

“Raised us?” Sam interrupted him. “Give me a friggin’ break, you didn’t raise us. We grew up in spite of you. Without you, even, since you were always focused on the hunt.”

“Sammy, stop it,” Dean interrupted Sam’s rant with a quiet voice and a touch on the arm. When his brother obeyed, Dean turned to their father. “There’s nothing we can say that will make this right for you. I get that, but there’s something you have to get, Dad. I love Sam. Sam loves me. And, together, we’re having a child.”

Dean paused and, when his father didn’t respond, shrugged. “It is what it is and there’s nothing you can do to change it,” he concluded. “You can either deal with it or not.”

John looked from one son to the other. Seeing twin resolute expressions on their faces, he growled and strode out the door, brushing close enough that Sam could feel his body heat as he passed.

“I guess he chose the ‘not’ option,” It was a game attempt at a quip, but the bleak expression in Dean’s eyes ruined it.

Sam wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist and led his brother to a chair. Like a marionette with its strings cut, Dean let himself be arranged comfortably. Sam hated that empty look and grabbed Dean by the chin. He kissed his brother fiercely until he felt Dean begin to respond and then Sam pulled back.

“Stay right here,” Sam instructed, getting up and striding to the door. “This isn’t over yet.”

His long legs were an asset that Sam put to full use. Their apartment building was small, only having four units and was set up more like a house. Sam was to the front door in no time and trotting down the steps. He looked up and down the street, but saw nothing. Then he heard it, the engine noise of a truck that he instinctively knew was his dad’s. As its lights approached, Sam took a deep breath and stepped out into the street.

The headlights grew increasingly brighter and a horn sounded, but Sam just narrowed his eyes and stood his ground. The truck blinked first. With a screech of tires, it jerked to the side of the street, narrowly missing him.

Sam didn’t even wait for it to come to a complete stop. He ran to the driver’s side and yanked the door open, grabbing his father and pulling him from his seat. With a thud, he slammed the older man against the side of the vehicle.

“Are you insane?” He demanded of his parent.

John glared right back. “Me, insane? You’re the one playing chicken with a pick-up.”

“Your son is up there,” Sam said with quiet intensity. “Pregnant. A miracle if I ever heard one and you’re going to turn your back on him?” John took a breath as if to speak, but Sam beat him to it. “He needs you, Dad. You’ve walked away from Dean, from both of us, so many times because your hunt was more important. Wake up. This might be your last chance.”

Some of the defiance left John’s face. “Last chance for what?”

“The last chance to be a good father,” Sam replied, letting go of his dad and stepping back. “The only chance you have to be a good grandfather.”

“A good father would not let this unnatural relationship continue,” John retorted. “I should-. . . .”

Sam shook his head, disappointed. “Don’t you get it, Dad? It’s not about you. It’s about us. Me and Dean.” He sighed. “Dean was right, it is what it is and you can either accept it or not. Either way, we’ll still be Winchesters and we’ll still fight the good fight. Some day, so will our son. It would be nice if you’d be there with us, but we can exist without you as part of our lives. We have until now, after all.”

Without another look, Sam turned his back on his father and went back inside to where Dean was waiting. His brother looked up as Sam entered the room, the hope draining from his face as he realized that Sam was alone.

“It was worth a try,” Dean said softly.

Sam shrugged, unexpectedly tearing up. “I just couldn’t get through to him.”

Dean made his awkward way to his feet and moved to envelope Sam in his arms. “Thanks for trying. Maybe he’ll come around.”

“I don’t know,” Sam wasn’t as optimistic. With the baby bulge, it was hard to pull Dean as close as he would have liked, but it helped that Sam had very long arms. “He’s pretty damn stubborn and it’s a lot to expect him to deal with.”

The two of them stood in the middle of the room, arms around each other and the unborn baby sandwiched between. The warmth of the embrace was comforting and the couple might have stayed there for longer, but for the noise of a clearing throat.

They turned, Sam attempting to shove Dean behind him for safety and Dean not having a bit of it, only to find their father standing in the doorway. For several heartbeats, none of the Winchesters spoke.

“You’re my boys,” John finally said starkly. “I don’t know that I can ever understand how you can love each other. . . that way. . . but I do know that I’m your father. I love you. No matter what.”

It took a moment for Sam to identify the emotion in his father’s voice, maybe because he’d never heard it from the man before. John Winchester, for the first time in Sam’s life, was being contrite.

Dean squeezed Sam’s hand and then moved forward towards John, arms open. John, Sam was happy to see, didn’t hesitate at all, meeting Dean halfway. As his father and brother hugged, Sam was unashamed to feel tears burning in his eyes.

“Way to go, Dad,” he whispered softly.

And then Sam moved forward and joined the embrace.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally Posted August 25, 2006


	16. Grocery Shopping

Sam Winchester didn’t like grocery shopping. For a man who got a thrill out of ‘normal” tasks like writing out the monthly rent check, that was saying a lot. It wasn’t the mundane nature of the chore that he found irritating or even that it involved spending money. There was only one reason that Sam didn’t like grocery shopping and that reason was Dean Winchester.

The weekly grocery shopping was a task that the Winchesters did together. That wasn’t the problem; Sam enjoyed spending time with Dean. The negative part of having a regular job was that it kept him away from his brother. In the months since rejoining the family business, Sam had gotten used to spending copious amounts of time with his sibling. The job that took Sam away during the day was a necessity, but Sam found that he missed Dean a lot more than he would have expected. 

At first, the problem with going to the grocery store with Dean was jealousy, pure and simple. If women in bars found Dean attractive, then women in grocery stores found him damn near irresistible. It was as if his brother exuded some sort of pheromone. Gorgeous women would brush up against in him the fruit department, leering as they squeezed a tomato. Matrons would find it necessary to give him advice on housecleaning products and when they were in the meat department, it wasn’t the meat in the chilled display cases that got mouths to watering.

Dean, being Dean, lapped up the attention and Sam didn’t really begrudge it to him. His brother was dealing with enough life changes the way it was. If flirting at the grocery store brought him some amusement, then Sam was happy to play along. He just pushed the cart and watched, shaking his head now and then as his brother charmed his way through aisle after aisle.

As the months went on, though, something changed and that was the current reason Sam didn’t like going to the grocery story with Dean. As the pregnancy progressed, Dean’s face stayed handsome, if a little fuller, but his body became undeniably bulky as the child within him grew. The flirting slowed down when Dean was well into his second trimester and by the time he’d entered his third, it was almost nonexistent. Time after time, Sam would watch another shopper’s expression light with interest at seeing Dean’s face, but then that light would fade as the next glance took in the rest of his body. It was painful to watch. Not that Sam necessarily wanted strangers drooling over his lover, but Dean had always taken great care of his body. His looks and the attention they got him were something that Dean used to value his self-worth. Dean never said anything, but Sam knew that his brother was aware of the reaction he was getting and he worried about how it was affecting his sibling.

“Yo, Sammy.”

Sam blinked as the sound of his brother’s voice brought him back to reality. 

Dean was holding up two different boxes. “You want strawberry or cherry Poptarts?”

”Uh, I don’t care,” Sam replied. “Whatever you want.”

“Right,” Dean contemplated a moment and then grinned. “Both.”

He dumped the two boxes into the full cart and marked something off his list before moving on. Sam grinned as he watched his brother walk. Dean had the waddle that was typical of heavily pregnant women and Sam thought it was absolutely adorable. Of course, he was careful that Dean didn’t know that’s how he felt because it didn’t take a psychic to foretell what his brother’s likely reaction would be. He couldn’t help it, though. In Sam’s eyes, Dean was always gorgeous, but being gravid with their child took that beauty to a whole new level.

“You’re fat,” a childish voice piped up.

Sam’s schedule meant that they did their weekly grocery shopping on Saturdays, when it was busy. On this particular trip, they constantly seemed to find themselves in the same aisle as a mother and her two children. One child was an infant in the cart and the other was about seven. The older girl kept taking a stuffed animal from the baby, making her little sister cry. The mother was talking on her cell phone and not paying much attention. She’d stick a pacifier back into the baby’s mouth and not reprimand the older girl for causing the problem in the first place. Watching made Sam’s temper short, but there really wasn’t anything he could do.

“You’re fat,” the seven year-old addressed Dean again. “My mommy says that fat people are just lazy.”

Reminding himself that she was a child didn’t help, Sam still wanted to tear the little brat apart. Dean’s self-image was shaky enough without this stupid kid shredding further. Before he could step forward, however, Dean squatted down so he was closer to the youngster’s eye level.

“Oh, I’m not fat, sweetheart,” Dean told her. “It’s something else entirely.”

The little girl looked unconvinced. “You look fat. I bet you’re lazy too.”

“But I’m not,” Dean countered. For a minute, Sam thought his brother was going to spill the whole secret, but Dean had something else in mind. “I have a very bad habit, though. Do you sleep with your mouth open? I do.”

“Does that make you fat?” She asked.

“In a way,” Dean explained. “You see, when you sleep with your mouth open, all kinds of things can crawl in.”

Sam had been impressed, watching his brother interacting with the child and thinking of what a wonderful father Dean was going to be. Certainly he’d be more attentive than the mother, who’d wandered half an aisle away from the cart and was still on her phone, not at all aware that her little girl was having a conversation with a stranger. Dean’s last comment, though, brought a whole new feeling. Sam recognized that statement and he knew where Dean was going with his explanation. Sam moved forward to intervene, but then looked at the baby and remembered how the girl had been taunting her sister. Sam smiled full force; Dean never had liked bullies.

“What kinds of things?” The girl asked.

“Bugs,” Dean answered readily. “Especially spiders. You see, one night I was sleeping with my mouth open and a big, hairy spider crawled in my mouth and I swallowed it, legs and all.”

“Really?” Her eyes were big.

“Really,” Dean confirmed. “And when it was in my belly, it laid some eggs.” Dean stood so that his stomach was on the girl’s eye level. He rubbed his rounded tummy, stretching the fabric of his shirt over it so it was clearly outlined. “That’s what’s in there. Lots and lots of spider eggs, just waiting to hatch.” 

Sam knew damn well that Dean had some control over his stomach muscles. Even so, he jumped almost as much as the girl did when Dean’s stomach rippled.

“Oooh. . .” Dean moaned. “Looks like they’re ready to come out now.”

Sam had to give it to the brat, she held her ground for a few seconds. Dean’s stomach rippled again, though, and she went running shrieking to her mother. “Mommy!”

Dean walked back to their cart, a hint of his usual swagger in his waddle. He caught the look Sam was giving him and shrugged. “What?”

Sam didn’t buy that innocent expression for a minute. “Should I be worried about you raising children?”

“Hey, I’m good with kids,” Dean protested. “You said so yourself.”

“Yeah, you are,” Sam relented. Dean’d had that little brat eating right out of his hand. “Are you going to tell that story to our son?”

Sam distinctly remembered when Dean had told him a similar urban legend. John never did figure out why Sam went through a phase of insisting on taping his lips shut before he went to bed.

“Nah,” Dean scoffed at Sam’s comment. “I bet he’ll have a mouth on him, but Mikey’s not gonna be a bully. I can’t stand bullies.”

If Sam wasn’t already head over heels in love with Dean, he would have fallen hard right at that moment.

“You know,” he leaned forward to whisper in Dean’s ear. “If we weren’t right in the middle of the breakfast aisle, I’d kiss you.”

Dean blinked and then licked his lips. “With tongue?” He asked, both tone and expression hopeful.

“All the tongue you could handle.” Sam confirmed.

His brother didn’t need to think about it. Dean tossed his list into the cart. “Okay, we’re done here, Sam.”

Sam chuckled. “But we haven’t even made it to the frozen foods yet.”

“Screw the frozen food,” Dean whispered hoarsely, in deference to the crowded store. “I need that kiss more than I need ice cream.”

”Sure, you say that now,” Sam protested, but he obediently pushed the cart after Dean, who was waddling as fast as he could for the check-out. “But when the craving hits you tonight, guess who’ll be sent on an emergency Rocky Road run?”

“Are you complaining?” Dean tossed over his shoulder.

Sam watched his brother, heavily pregnant with their child, and knew there was only one answer he could make.

“No,” Sam Winchester claimed proudly. “I don’t have anything in the world to complain about.”

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on August 26, 2006


	17. Lullaby

Sam hated working on the weekend. The extra money was nice and it wasn’t that Sam was too lazy to work additional hours, because he wasn’t. It was just that he begrudged the extra time away from Dean. Hank was a good boss and an even better man, though, so Sam did it anyway. He’d told Hank a while back that his ‘girlfriend’ was expecting a baby and Hank had been very supportive. He’d promised Sam that he’d hold his job for a couple of weeks if Sam wanted to take some time off when the baby was born. It wouldn’t be paid, of course, but Sam wasn’t complaining. With any luck, he’d be able to talk Dean into staying in Virginia a couple of months after the birth, at least until they got used to the idea of being fathers.

Thankfully, the crew got the drywall laid by mid-morning, so Sam still had most of his Saturday left. He was in a cheerful mood as he trotted up the stairs and into the apartment he shared with Dean. He was about to call out to his brother when he heard the sound of music. Intrigued, Sam kept quiet and walked softly in the hopes that he could catch Dean undetected.

Dean was in their bedroom folding laundry. There was no radio on, however. The music was Dean softly singing as he worked. Sam recognized the tune. It was a mullet rock song recorded by one of Dean’s favorite hair bands. Sam was sure that the original version involved a lot of screaming and guitar riffs designed to make the listeners’ ears bleed.

Not the way Dean sang it.

His brother’s rendition was soft and low, full of tenderness and soul. Every once in a while Dean would stop with the folding and cradle his stomach, rocking back and forth in time with the song. Sam settled in by the door frame, not wanting to interrupt Dean and end the moment. Only when the song was done and Dean was simply humming quietly did Sam let his brother know that he was there.

“Hey,” Sam called out softly.

Dean looked up and smiled sheepishly. “Hey.”

“Don’t stop on my account,” Sam commented, walking into the room. “Sounded nice.” He grinned suddenly. “Wasn’t exactly ‘Rock-a-Bye Baby,’ though.”

“Our kid isn’t listening to any lame-ass lullaby, Sammy,” Dean grimaced. “We’re sticking to the classics all the way.”

“I don’t know if Metallica does any kiddie albums,” Sam teased. He came up behind his brother and wrapped him in his arms. “You might have to compromise.”

“No way,” Dean protested. “Zeppelin was good enough for you; it’ll be good enough for Mikey.”

Sam laughed gently as he nuzzled behind Dean’s ear. Some of his earliest memories were of Dean singing to him. “Dude, for years I thought the second line of ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ was ‘Brighter than the headlights of a car.’”

Dean shrugged, but arched his neck so that Sam had better access. “What are you bitching about, you turned out all right.” He grinned mischievously. “A little geeky, though.”

“Who are you calling geeky,” Sam teased. “You’re wearing my shirt.”

The clothes borrowing had started a couple of weeks earlier. Sam had been looking for a favorite shirt, only to realize that Dean was wearing it. He hadn’t complained; there was just something about his pregnant lover wearing his clothes that appealed to Sam on a very primal level. He did, however, enjoy ribbing his brother about it every chance he got.

“That’s because your shirts are bigger than mine and, thanks to your baby, I need the room,” Dean defended himself. “It’s not my fault that you’re Samzilla.”

“Funny, I don’t recall you complaining about me being too big on the night Michael was conceived,” Sam mused.

“Oooh, somebody’s feeling full of himself,” Dean countered. 

“What I’m feeling is tired,” Sam claimed. He started tugging Dean closer to the bed and crawled onto the mattress, pulling his brother behind him.

“Watch it, Sammy,” Dean protested as Sam pulled him down on top of the pile of clean clothes. “I just got through folding those.”

Sam snorted; he wasn’t naïve enough to believe that Dean really gave a rat’s ass about neatly folded laundry.

“Come on, Dean,” he coaxed the other man. “I’ll let you sing me to sleep. . . .”

It didn’t happen quite that way. Sam did talk Dean into joining him in bed, but sleep was the last thing on his mind. And while the two did make noise, it wasn’t quite a song. Or, at least, it was a song without words.

But neither brother seemed to mind.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted August 27, 2006


	18. Morning Sickness

Sam opened the motel room door as quietly as he could. Much to Dean’s disgust, Sam was a morning person. It didn’t matter how late the hunt kept them out, Sam was always up bright and early. Dean was usually grumpy about that, especially if Sam wasn’t as quiet as Dean thought he should be. Lately, though, Sam’s early bird tendencies had come in handy.

Breathing a sigh of relief upon seeing that his brother was still asleep, Sam got to work. Moving with a stealth that was surprising in a man of his size, Sam carefully placed the bottle of Gatorade on the bedside table. He winced as he opened the package of soda crackers, sure the loud rustling of the plastic packaging would wake his brother, but although Dean murmured softly, he didn’t wake. Lastly, Sam made sure that the ice bucket had a fresh plastic liner and set it on the floor next to the bed, on the side that Dean would use to get up. 

After he’d made all the preparations that he reasonably could, Sam made his way into the bathroom. He’d also picked up a new tube of toothpaste and needed to put it to use. Dean couldn’t have coffee, so Sam tried to have his when Dean wasn’t around. It was in Sam’s best interests to brush his teeth afterwards, so his brother couldn’t smell it on his breath. Dean wasn’t petty enough to begrudge Sam being able to have coffee; it was just that the smell would make him nauseous. Dean was having enough problems with morning sickness the way it was without Sam making it worse.

When Sam was done with his teeth, he went back to the main room and just drank in the sight of his brother. Dean, pregnant. Even a week after doing half dozen pregnancy tests, it still didn’t seem possible. All the signs were there, though, for those who had eyes to see. The main symptoms at the moment were exhaustion and morning sickness. Sam tried not to let it bother him, how much sleep his brother needed to have, but it was worrisome. Dean was never one to take naps, but had been doing so on a regular basis. As for the morning sickness, Dean was actually losing weight instead of gaining it. Everything Sam read indicated that his brother would make up for lost time later in the pregnancy, but it was hard to watch him be ill so often.

“Jesus, Sammy, mother hen much?”

Dean’s voice was more hoarse than normal and Sam smiled sheepishly as he gave up his post by the bathroom door in order to approach the bed. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was,” Dean had been sleeping on his stomach, but slowly rolled to his side. Even as he smiled at his brother’s ‘bed head,’ Sam noticed that Dean had one arm curled around his stomach. “And now I’m not. Deal with it.”

Sam was torn between sympathy and amusement. A Dean without coffee was a grumpy Dean. 

Sitting on the bed, Sam ran one hand down his brother’s bare back. “How are you feeling this morning?”

Dean shrugged. “Like Jessica Simpson’s doing a lap dance on my gut.” He winced and even Sam could hear Dean’s stomach gurgle. “Make that Homer Simpson.”

“Sorry, babe,” Sam sympathized.

He leaned in to kiss his brother and Dean met him halfway. Morning sickness or no morning sickness, Dean wasn’t one to pass up a kiss. Sam melted into the heat of his brother’s mouth and automatically deepened the kiss. At first when Dean squirmed against him, Sam thought it was because his brother was enjoying it. As the wiggling became more frantic, though, he realized that Dean was trying to break free.

“You okay?” Sam asked, eyes dark with concern.

Dean didn’t speak right away. His eyes were closed and Sam could see him swallow several times as he tried to get his nausea under control.

“What was that?” Dean eventually asked.

“What was what?” Sam countered, confused.

“The taste in your mouth,” Dean’s expression was a grimace. “What the hell was it?”

Sam ran his tongue over his teeth. Try as he might, all he could taste was the minty freshness of his toothpaste. “Um. . . I brushed my teeth.”

If anything, Dean turned paler. “Your teeth?”

“Yeah,” Sam responded, confused. “I got this new toothpaste. It was on special, some sort of vanilla mint stuff.”

“Oh, man,” Dean groaned. Flailing, he lurched from the bed and, totally ignoring the ice bucket Sam had ready for him, made a dash for the bathroom. Sam heard the clatter of the toilet lid being raised and then the all-too-familiar sound of retching.

Sam counted to fifty. When the retching continued, he got up and went to see if he could help.

“Dean, is there anything I can do?”

He made it to the bathroom door and had to duck quickly as an object came flying out. It grazed his head and, as Sam picked it up off the floor, he realized it was his new tube of toothpaste.

“Dean?”

“Get that crap out of here, Sam,” Dean growled in-between bouts of vomiting. “The smell’s stronger in here.”

Sam sighed. Like his favorite flavor of chewing gum, this brand of toothpaste was history, at least for the next few months.

“Okay. I’m going to throw it away outside,” Sam called out. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“I don’t care if you drive it to a toxic waste dump,” Dean complained. “Just get it the hell away from me.”

Dean was still in the bathroom when Sam returned and this time, Sam ventured in. He squatted behind his brother while Dean retched and rubbed the older man’s back. He didn’t know if it did any good, but slowly the tense muscles relaxed as the vomiting slacked off. After it completely stopped, Dean made his shaky way to his feet, shrugging away Sam’s helping hands. 

Sam could do nothing but follow as Dean made his way back to the bed, watching as his brother eased himself back down on the mattress. Once there, Dean threw one arm over his eyes, as though to shut the rest of the world out.

“Hey, why don’t I make you some tea?” Sam offered.

“Tea, great.” Dean scoffed, without ever moving his arm or looking at his brother. “Sammy, what makes you think I’d want to drink something made of out weeds boiled in hot water?”

“It’s supposed to be soothing to the stomach,” Sam pointed out. “You sure you don’t want to try it?”

“Yeah, well, I’m not that much of a girl yet,” Dean retorted. He sat up and took a small sip of the Gatorade.

“Try some of the crackers,” Sam suggested. “Complex carbohydrates are supposed to help with morning sickness. Next time I go to the store, I’ll get some yogurt. That’s supposed to be good too.”

“Oh, kill me now,” Dean moaned.

“I know it’s hard, but morning sickness won’t last forever,” Sam sympathized. “In a few weeks, this will be a bad memory.”

“Easy for you to say, Sammy,” Dean complained. “You don’t have to give up coffee and eggs over easy and beer-. . . “

A strange look came over Dean’s face and he abruptly stopped listing the foods he couldn’t eat. Sam didn’t need to be psychic to know what was coming next. He made a dive for the ice bucket and got it into place just in time. While Dean retched miserably, Sam rubbed his back and crooned softly. He’d done enough research on pregnancy to know that that what he’d told Dean was right, the morning sickness would pass and would most likely be gone in a few weeks.

It would just feel like forever.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted August 28, 2006


	19. Domestic Bliss

Dean’s pregnancy had taken a lot of getting used to. Luckily, Sam was an adaptable kind of guy. He’d accepted the changes to his lover’s appearance with total equanimity. It was the least he could do, after all, considering it was his child warping Dean’s body. Sam had also rolled with the punches concerning Dean’s mood swings, knowing his brother was bearing the brunt of the emotional fallout. As for living a normal life, Sam had taken to it like a duck to water. Although he occasionally missed being on the road with Dean, their paranormal-free life was a slice of domestic heaven as far as Sam was concerned.

What Sam was having a harder time getting used to was the return of John Winchester into their lives.

While clearly still uncomfortable with the boys’ relationship, John had become very supportive of Dean in his pregnancy. Sam was glad. He’d missed his father while he’d been at Stanford, but nothing like Dean had in the time since John had disappeared.

In stark contrast to the months they’d traveled looking for him, John called almost every day, usually while Sam was at work. If that weren’t enough, the man also dropped in unexpectedly, almost once a week since he’d found out Dean was pregnant. He hadn’t managed to catch his sons as unaware as the first time, but always checked the apartment for salt and loaded shotguns just to make sure they stayed on their toes.

In his own, gruff Winchester way, their father was hovering.

Even though John had called the night before to let them know he was coming, it still felt strange to Sam to come home and find his dad setting the table.

“Go wash up, Sam,” John instructed as he saw him walk in. “We’ll be eating in a minute.”

Sam’s feet started taking him towards the kitchen before he knew what was happening. It made him feel about eleven years old, but Sam had obeyed instantly. It would have made him crabbier had Dean not been in the kitchen. Defiantly forgetting the order to wash his hands, Sam came up behind Dean where he was at the sink straining spaghetti and wrapped his arms around him, nuzzling his brother’s neck.

“Hey, honey, I’m home,” Sam said with a grin.

Dean made a rude noise, but turned and kissed Sam anyway. “Dad wants to spend the night, is that okay?”

Sam wanted to say no, hating how they had to curb their displays of affection in respect to their father’s sensibilities. Instead, he made himself shrug and say, “Sure.” Truly, he didn’t mind, not when it made Dean so happy. “How was your day?”

It was Dean’s turn to shrug. “You know how it is in the crazy world of data entry. It was pure madness.”

“Ass,” Sam said affectionately. “Feeling okay?”

“Other than the fact that my back hurts like a son of a bitch, your son kicked the hell out of my ribs all afternoon and that I have to pee every ten minutes, peachy keen,” Dean responded. He finished with the spaghetti and dumped it into a bowl before handing it to Sam to carry.

“Did you take a nap?” Sam pressed, refusing to back down when Dean glared at him.

“What, do I look like I’m a toddler to you?” Dean growled. “No, I did not take a nap.”

Sam bit back a retort. According to his research, the further along in the pregnancy, the more strength was sapped from the mother. Or, in this case Dean. Napping was not a sign of weakness, but trying to get his stubborn brother to believe that was nearly impossible.

Dinner was surprising convivial, particularly considering that John Winchester wasn’t exactly a sparkling conversationalist. Dean drew him out, however, getting their dad to talk about his latest hunts. At first, Sam was worried that Dean’s hunting juices would get to flowing again and there be no outlet for them. That didn’t happen. Instead, Sam watched while his brother and father had a professional-sounding conversation about what their family did best, protecting the innocent from supernatural phenomenon.

As he listened, something occurred to Sam. Before, he’d only seen his father through the eyes of a child. Sam may have thought he was grownup when he left for college, but he was anything but. He saw his dad as only a father then, not a man. For Dean, it was different. John Winchester wasn’t just a father, although that was certainly paramount, but he was also comrade and friend. No wonder Dean had missed him so much.

After they were done eating, John pushed back from the table and patted his stomach. “You go rest, Dean. Sammy and I will clean up here.”

Much to Sam’s surprise, Dean nodded. “I’ll just go keep the couch company for a couple of minutes.” He moved towards the living room area, but hadn’t gotten far before John’s voice stopped him.

“Don’t you have a vitamin you have to take or something?” Their dad asked.

Dean shook his head. “Took it this morning.” He got another couple of steps in before John stopped him again.

“How about your iron pill?”

Sam waited for the explosion. Dean hated that iron supplement, but Dana had not liked his last set of blood tests. Worried about anemia, she’d insisted on iron supplement, despite the unfortunate side effect that made Dean uncomfortable. 

“I guess I forgot,” Dean admitted meekly.

John shook his head. “Well, you better get on that.”

Sam gaped. Whenever he tried to gently remind Dean to take the supplement, he got bitched at for being a mother hen. With disbelief, he watched his brother shuffle towards the bathroom, one hand to the small of his back as though it pained him. When Dean was out of sight, Sam glanced at his father. John winked at him.

Too flustered to comment, Sam just helped his father clean up and then they both joined Dean in the living room. A new DVD had arrived in the mail from the service Sam had subscribed to when it became obvious that Dean would be spending a lot of time cooped up the apartment. The Winchesters soon had situated themselves for an evening of family togetherness, something as odd for them as a poltergeist would be to a normal family.

Sam shared the couch with Dean, something that wasn’t too unusual since the boys had been sharing various pieces of furniture their whole lives. They started out side by side, Sam declining to help Dean eat his popcorn. Not only was he too full from dinner, but Dean had drizzled chocolate sauce on it. By the time the popcorn was gone, it was obvious that Dean wasn’t comfortable, so Sam helped his brother find a position that was more to his liking. There was some squirming involved, but eventually Dean ended up lying down with his head in Sam’s lap. They both liked that and Sam, for one, didn’t particularly care if it made his father ill at ease.

Only half paying attention to the movie, Sam carded his fingers through Dean’s hair, the repetitious movement relaxing his brother further. Despite the action and car chases on the screen, Dean only made it halfway through the film before he fell asleep. Although Sam wanted Dean to rest, the fact that Dean couldn’t make it all the way through a movie bothered him.

“Sam, don’t worry so much.”

Sam glanced up to find his father looking at him, John’s dark eyes unusually soft.

“I can’t help it,” Sam bit his lip. “He just seems so. . . fragile.” 

John chuckled. “Whatever you do, don’t let him hear you say that.” He tilted his head as he considered his youngest son. “You need a drink?”

“I’m not leaving him,” Sam stated, frowning. He couldn’t believe his father was suggesting they go to a bar.

“That’s not what I said, Sammy,” his dad corrected. “I’ve got a bottle of tequila in my bag and you look like you could use some. Can you get up without waking him?”

“I think so,” Sam answered and then put action to words. Sliding carefully out from underneath Dean, Sam put a pillow under his brother’s head. Dean murmured softly, but didn’t wake.

While Sam was extricating himself from his brother, John was digging in the duffle bag he’d stashed in the corner. By the time Sam was free, John had his bottle and was heading for the kitchen. When Sam came in, his father was rummaging in the cabinets for two glasses. When he found them, he plopped himself down in a chair and gestured for Sam to join him. 

Sam sat heavily and took the glass his father offered him. The tequila burned on the way down, but it was a good burn.

“Your mother was the same way,” John stated, peering into his own glass. He smiled sadly. “When she was pregnant with Dean, it was like she felt if she slowed down at all, she was failing.”

“Why is that?” Sam asked plaintively. “I mean, my God, a baby’s growing inside, of course it’s going to take a lot of energy. But whenever I try to help, he bites my head off.”

John took a swig of his drink, grimacing at its bite. “Look, Sammy, do you charge an angry spirit head on?”

Sam thought about it a moment. “Dean does.”

”That’s right,” his dad agreed. “And he’s the one that gets tossed around a lot. You’ve got to be sneakier. Let him think things are his idea; don’t try and force anything on him.”

“You do,” Sam pointed out. 

“I’m the father, I’m supposed to give orders,” John smiled and for the first time in years, Sam saw the twinkle of mischief in John’s eyes and knew where Dean inherited his own twinkle. “You, however, are not his father, but the father of his child.”

Sam blushed. “Sorry, Dad. Didn’t mean to remind you.”

John shrugged. “I know that, son.” He looked away. “I may not ever agree with what’s between you and Dean, but I’ve spent enough time with you in the last month to know that your feelings are real. You’re my boys; I’ll never turn my back on you, especially not for something like this.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Sam replied, smiling warmly at his dad. “For that and for the advice.”

“You’re going to be a good father, Sammy,” John told him. “Dean too.”

“Dean.” Sam stood up. “I better get back. I don’t want him to fall off the couch or something.”

They both returned to the living room, where Dean was still asleep. He didn’t look as comfortable without his Sam-pillow. The other two Winchesters exchanged a fond look and then Sam walked over and crouched next to his brother.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam called softly, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder. He remembered his dad’s advice and tried a new tactic. “I’m really tired. Would it be okay if we went to bed?”

”Wha-. . .” Dean snuffled. “Don’ wanna salt th’windows, Dad. Sleepin.’”

John leaned on the arm of the couch and entered the fray. “Come on, Dean. You have to get up and go to bed.”

Dean’s eyes opened at the sound of his father’s voice and he attempted to get up. Sam slipped an arm behind his brother’s back and with a softly voiced oof, helped Dean to sit.

“You wake me up just to go to bed to sleep?” Dean grumbled as he wiped a hand across his face. “That’s stupid.”

Sam pulled out the puppy dog eyes. “I’m really tired, Dean, and I can’t sleep in the other room if you’re all the way out here. Please, can we just go to bed?” 

It worked. Dean mumbled further protests, but also tried to get up. Sam took one arm and his father took the other. Together, they leveraged the heavily pregnant man off the couch.

“Fine,” Dean complained as he shuffled out of the room. Sam had one long arm wrapped around Dean’s waist and was guiding him, not being completely convinced his brother was awake enough to avoid walking into the furniture. “But when we get there, you’re going straight to bed. With that job of yours, no wonder you’re tired.”

When they got to the doorway, Sam turned and looked gratefully at his father. “Good night, Dad.”

“Night, Sammy,” John returned the sentiment. “Night, Dean.”

Dean just waved his hand at him and kept walking. Sam moved to follow, but at the last minute, turned back to his father.

“I’m glad you’re here, Dad,” Sam stated. He tried to put everything he felt into his tone.

He must have succeeded, because Sam could see tears in his father’s eyes as John replied.

“Me too, Sammy. Me too.”

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted August 29, 2006


	20. Big

Being pregnant had not miraculously turned Dean into a neat freak, but having their dad stopping by regularly did prompt more cleanliness than had previously been the case. Not that John Winchester was a candidate for homemaker of the year, but he had a Marine’s preference for everything being stowed in its proper place. So it was strange for Sam to come home from work and find one of his shirts on the floor. Bemused, Sam bent and picked it up. One look at Dean’s thunderous face, though, and Sam knew he had to tread carefully.

Actually, Dean’s expression could have been due to what he was doing. His work-from-home data entering work had come to an end the week before. Not only was his concentration shot to hell from the pregnancy hormones, but his belly made it difficult for him to use the laptop. At first, Dean had spent his days zoned out watching cable television and rented DVDs. On his last visit, however, John had brought a Playstation with him. Dean’s eyes had lit up and Sam remembered how much his brother had enjoyed video games while they were growing up. John being John, he couldn’t leave it at that, growling that the game system would help Dean maintain his instincts until the baby was born and he could hunt again.

Whatever John’s true intentions of buying the Playstation were, Dean loved it. Most days when Sam came home, his brother was in the middle of killing zombies or such. Usually, though, Dean turned it off when Sam returned, preferring to spend time with another human being rather than a computer simulation. This time was no different, although the angry expression on Dean’s face didn’t dissipate as the game shut down.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Sam asked, coming over to give the other man a kiss.

Dean shrugged. “Huge.”

Sam winced. He knew Dean was uncomfortable. His brother had gotten to the point where he was having a hard time sleeping, not to mention finding a comfortable position to do just about anything.

“Not much longer now,” Sam encouraged him. Dean sat up a little and Sam rubbed his shoulders. “Just three more weeks until Dana can do the C-section.”

“21 days,” Dean said mournfully. “500 hours, give or take. But who’s counting, right?”

“Right,” Sam agreed. Hesitant, he gestured towards the shirt. “You drop something?”

Dean’s eyes had closed in appreciation of the shoulder rub, but they popped back open at Sam’s comment. Tilting his head back, he glared at his brother. “Yeah. You got a problem with that?” 

“No, of course not,” Sam attempted to placate him. “It’s just that you can’t see your feet anymore. I wouldn’t want you to trip on something.”

Sam could see his brother’s jaw clench.

“Why don’t you try telling me something I don’t know, Sam,” Dean ground out between clenched teeth. “It’s not like I’m trying to turn the place into an obstacle course.”

“I know, I know,” Sam soothed. “You just have to be careful is all.”

“That’s it,” Dean huffed. “It’s getting stifling in here, I’m going to take a drive.”

His declaration of independence was hampered somewhat by his difficulty in getting up from the couch. Sam helped, but as soon as Dean was on his feet, dropped his hands.

“Keys, Sammy.” 

Sam looked from Dean’s outstretched hand up to his determined face. “Why don’t I come with you?”

“I’ve got an idea, why don’t you not?” Dean countered, snapping his fingers. Reluctantly, Sam handed over the keys. 

“Dean, I just worry about you, is all,” Sam commented forlornly as he followed his brother to the closet. When Dean got his coat out, Sam helped him get it on.

“I know you do, Sam,” Dean softened enough to say to him. “I just need to get some air. Don’t worry, if there’s any place in the world I’m safe, it’s the Impala. She’s never let me down.”

Unhappy, but knowing he needed to abide by Dean’s decision, Sam watched as the other man left the apartment and made his awkward way down the hall. Sam sighed as he shut the door behind Dean, staring at it a few moments and wishing things didn’t have to be so difficult. At least pregnant women had a support group of sorts; every other woman who’d given birth. Not so with Dean. As much as Sam and John tried to be there for him, being a pregnant man must be incredibly isolating. Hopefully, a nice drive would help. No matter what was troubling Dean, quality time with his car usually soothed him.

Sam often took a shower directly after work, but didn’t dare until Dean returned. Instead, he went into the bedroom to change clothes, taking the discarded shirt with him. He hadn’t gotten more than a couple of buttons undone, however, before he heard the apartment door open again. 

Thinking it might be their father, Sam came back out into the main area, calling out a greeting as he walked. “We weren’t expecting you to visit again so soon.”

When he got into the living room, Sam came to a complete stop. It wasn’t his father who’d come in, it was Dean. His brother was sitting in a chair and, if his expression was thunderous before, it was downright murderous now.

“Um, hey,” Sam said hesitantly. “Did you change your mind?”

“Hell, no, I didn’t change my mind,” Dean snapped back. He was looking off in the distance and his color was high. “I wouldn’t fit.”

Sam carefully sat in the couch opposite from his brother. “You wouldn’t fit?”

“Behind the steering wheel,” Dean explained bitterly. “It was pressing against my belly and that’s not safe for the baby. I’m too big. Just like when I dropped your shirt out of the laundry basket, I couldn’t bend over to pick it up. My gut got in the way.”

Suddenly, Dean’s foul mood made sense.

There were a lot of things Sam could have said to try and make his brother feel better. He didn’t bother. There was nothing Sam could say that would change things and, besides, given Dean’s mood, he knew what the response was likely to be. Sam wasn’t particularly interested in getting verbally castrated. 

“Screw dinner and screw this place,” Sam announced. “Let’s get out of here. Go to a movie or something.”

Dean looked at him in surprise, obviously having expected an attempt to placate him. He grinned slowly, though, pleased with the suggestion. Or, maybe even more, that Sam knew him well enough to not attempt it.

“I’m over eight months pregnant,” Dean pointed out. “The words ‘screw dinner’ are not in my vocabulary.”

Sam shrugged, grinning himself. “Then we get fast food before the show. You know, some of that stuff that Dana doesn’t want you to have.” He held his hands out to Dean, ready to help him up.

Dean accepted the assistance. “Oooh. . . willing to live dangerously, huh?”

“A splurge once in a while won’t hurt,” Sam defended his idea. “Then we’ll get popcorn at the theater and maybe some ice cream afterwards.”

“With chocolate sauce?” Dean asked, eagerly allowing himself to be led from the apartment.

“On the ice cream, Dean,” Sam insisted. “The chocolate sauce belongs on the ice cream.”

“Coward,” Dean muttered.

It didn’t strike Sam as odd that the teenager at the fast food place assumed that Dean wanted to super size his combo meal. It wasn’t that unusual. When the girl at the theater concession stand asked if Dean wanted a large popcorn, especially when she giggled and emphasized the word large, Sam began to realize that people saw his brother differently than he did. They saw a fat man who was sloppy with his appearance, not someone preparing for the miracle of birth. It pissed Sam off, but Dean appeared not to care, simply razzing the girl for not having chocolate sauce. 

The few times that the brothers had gone to a movie together, they’d sat in the back of the theater. Since they usually went to horror films, they’d spend the entire movie picking it apart and if they sat away from everyone else, they didn’t disturb anyone. With Dean’s condition, the back row wasn’t an option. Not only were stairs difficult for him, but with his bladder constantly being compressed, he needed to get up and down a lot.

When Dean had gotten up for his third potty break when the movie wasn’t even half over, Sam gave up. Dean came out from the bathroom to find his brother was waiting for him, leaning against the wall. 

“You’re miserable, aren’t you?” Sam asked softly.

Dean shrugged. “Kinda.”

“Then why’d you agree to come?” Sam pressed. “We didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“I know.” Dean agreed. “But you wanted to help so bad and, honestly, I just needed to get away from those four walls for a while. Didn’t much matter where we went.”

Sam smiled at him. “Let’s go home and I’ll rub your feet.”

“Tempting,” Dean teased, “but you promised me ice cream and I’m not gonna let you renege”

It was really the wrong moment to give Dean any crap about how much he’d already eaten, so Sam just kept his mouth shut and drove the man to get ice cream. Once there, Dean got his chocolate sauce and was happily putting away a double scoop.

“You know, there really isn’t much in life that ice cream won’t cure,” Dean said contentedly. When he glanced over at his brother, that twinkle was back in his eye. “Except maybe that haircut of yours, Sammy.”

“Jerk,” Sam said, although the comeback lacked any heat.

“Bitc-. . .” Dean stopped mid-word and looked at his stomach ruefully. “Well, I guess, technically, I’m the bitch right now.”

Sam shook his head and bent close so he could whisper in Dean’s ear. “You’re nobody’s bitch. It takes a real man to have a baby.”

They would have kissed, but it was a public place, filled with a lot of kids. In fact, when Sam sat back in his chair a little boy was contemplating Dean solemnly.

“Mister, you’re fat,” the child stated baldly. “You look gross.”

The Winchesters exchanged glances, but before Dean could open his mouth, Sam covered his brother’s hand with his own. 

“Allow me,” he murmured. When Dean nodded, Sam addressed the little boy.

“He’s not fat, but he does sleep with his mouth open.”

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted August 30, 2006


	21. Tumble

Sam didn’t get many phone calls at work. None, really. It was just him and Dean, especially since they’d moved to Virginia two months before and given up hunting. Dean was well aware that Sam had a physical job and didn’t call him while he was at work. In fact, Sam was far more likely to call Dean on a break or as he drove home, just to see how his pregnant brother was doing.

So when his cell phone vibrated with an incoming message, Sam didn’t ignore it. In fact, he got a sick feeling at the bottom of his stomach, a feeling that was justified when he saw the text message.

“Dean 911”

Sam dropped the piece of plywood he’d been hefting and took off running, his long legs picking up steam as he went. Vaguely, he was aware of someone shouting at him and realized it was his boss, Hank. Sam had just enough sense left to call out to the man about a family emergency and then he was in the Impala.

He had the car started and was making hell bent for leather for the apartment when he hit the pre-programmed number to return the call. When Dean picked up, Sam started talking before Dean could say anything.

“What’s wrong?” Sam demanded, wincing when the tires shrieked as he rounded a corner. His mind was full of all sorts of possibilities, each one worse than the last. For all he knew, his brother was under supernatural attack.

“I fell, Sam,” Dean’s voice was tight with barely checked emotion. “I was coming up the stairs and my feet slipped and I fell.”

Sam barely stopped himself from asking if that was all. At first, it seemed inconsequential, a tumble, but then the implications of what even a small fall could mean to a pregnant man hit him.

“Are you all right?” He asked.

“I’m fine, Sam,” Dean assured him and Sam breathed a sigh of relief. It was short-lived, however, given Dean’s next comment. “I don’t know about the baby, though. Sammy, I haven’t felt him move since it happened and he’d been kicking the crap out of me all morning.”

Oh, God.

Sam took a deep breath. “Did you call Dana?”

“Yeah, three times. I only got her voice mail.”

Sam had halfway expected Dean to have some sort of sarcastic comeback, but Dean had simply answered the question. That, more than anything else, showed the depths of his brother’s fear.

“Hang on,” Sam encouraged him. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

The rest of the drive was a blur. It was as if the car was driving itself, which was something that Sam couldn’t totally rule out. The Impala was part of the family and never ran for anyone else half as well as it did for Dean.

However he managed it, Sam made it safely home and ran up the steps three at a time. He was breathless as he reached the apartment.

“Dean?” Sam called out as soon as he had the door partway open.

“In here,” his brother’s voice answered.

Dean was in the bedroom and, in a heartbeat, so was Sam. His brother looked up as Sam entered the room and Sam could see that barely restrained panic he’d sensed on the phone clearly in the older man’s face. Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed, one arm wrapped protectively over the small bulge of his stomach.

Sam immediately went to him and knelt in front of his brother, putting one hand on each of Dean’s knees. “Are you sure you aren’t hurt?” Now that he was closer, he could see a bruise on Dean’s cheek and a rip on the cloth of his pant leg.

Shaking his head, Dean dismissed Sam’s concerns. “I’m fine, but the baby. . . .”

“Did you look it up in the baby book?” Sam asked.

Dean snorted. “Yeah, it said that you should watch for signs of bleeding.”

That wouldn’t do them much good. Dana had told them that Dean’s uterus wasn’t connected to any body orifice. There was no way for Dean’s body to expel the fetus, but that didn’t mean that it couldn’t be harmed. 

“Did it say anything else?” Sam asked, not wanting Dean to focus on the negative.

“It said that the amniotic fluid cushions the baby,” Dean recited. “If there’s no sharp pains or bleeding you should be all right, although you should check with your doctor.”

“And do you have any sharp pains?” Sam questioned him.

“No.”

Sam took what felt like his first unobstructed breath since seeing the text message. “Then maybe everything’s okay.”

Dean pushed himself to his feet and started to pace.

“Everything’s not okay, Sammy. I fell down the steps, cement steps. I tried to protect my stomach, but I don’t know that I did. All I do know is that baby was active all morning and now it’s like he’s not even there,” Dean wound down and stood gazing at Sam with a lost look in his eyes. “I am such a fuck up.”

“Hey, don’t talk like that.” Sam stood and wrapped his arms around his brother. “It was an accident.”

“Yeah, but it’s our baby, Sam,” Dean said, misery pouring off him. “And I might have hurt him. I’m. . . I’m sorry.”

Sam kissed Dean gently. “Dean, you could never hurt the baby, not even by accident.”

“We don’t know that yet,” Dean refuted. He pulled out of Sam’s arms to start pacing again. “God, I wish Dana would call back.”

The Winchesters had an odd dynamic. Whenever one of them got upset or, more rarely, panicked, the other found the calm within to deal with the situation. Had the fall happened on another day, Dean would have been just as likely to be the composed one like Sam was at the moment. 

“You know what?” Sam asked as he watched his brother’s agitated movements for a few minutes. “All this stress can’t be doing the baby any good. Come lay down with me.”

He sat on the bed and held his hand out to his brother. Dean stopped his pacing, looking at Sam with large, haunted eyes, but wouldn’t join him.

“Please,” Sam asked again, kicking off his shoes and scooting back on the bed.

Dean sighed and toed off his own shoes, moving carefully as he joined his brother. They ended up on their sides with Sam curled up around Dean protectively, Dean’s back to his front. Sam put his long arms to good use, wrapping them around his brother and placing his hands on the bulge that was their unborn child. 

At first, Dean lay stiffly in Sam’s arms, but slowly the warmth from his brother’s body seeped into him, relaxing him.

“That’s good,” Sam crooned. “The baby can feel when you’re tense. If you’re relaxed, then he’ll know there’s nothing to be scared of and, next thing you know, he’ll be kicking the crap out of you again.”

Dean’s chuckle sounded a little moist. “Now there’s one thing I never thought I’d miss.”

“Mmmm. . . .” Sam murmured indistinctly, burrowing his nose into the short hair at Dean’s nape.

The brothers were quiet for several minutes.

“I want this baby, Sam,” Dean stated, suddenly breaking the silence. “I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

Sam smiled and kissed his brother’s shoulder. Dean complained a lot about the physical changes the pregnancy caused, but Sam would have be blind not to see that his brother was happy, far happier than Sam had ever believed that Dean could be. Almost as happy as Sam was himself.

“I know.” Sam responded. “Me too.”

They were pressed close enough that Sam could feel the hitch in his brother’s breathing.

“And if I’ve screwed it up, tripping over my own two feet. . . .”

“You don’t know that,” Sam said firmly. “You haven’t had any pains and there’s no indication that the baby was harmed. He’s just a little shook up is all.”

“You think so?” Dean asked, a quiver of hope in his voice.

“Absolutely,” Sam stated, putting as much belief in his voice as he could.

They both lapsed into silence again.

“Sammy?” Dean asked after a few moments. “You said from the beginning that it was a boy. Did you have any dreams about him?”

Sam shook his head. “No. I’ve just known it was a boy, nothing more specific.”

“Oh,” Dean sounded disappointed. “I thought if you’d had a vision of him it would be proof that he’s going to be born, that the fall didn’t hurt him.”

“Nothing like that,” Sam regretfully told him. “I’ve thought about it a lot, though. What he’s going to look like, how he’ll act.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He’s going to have blonde hair and green eyes,” Sam theorized, grabbing onto a way to distract his brother. “And the cutest little bow mouth. Just like you.”

“I’m not cute,” Dean countered, seemingly on automatic. “I’m hot. Besides, our kid’s going to have dark hair and puppy dog eyes.”

“Hmmm. . . .” Sam considered. “How about brunette with green eyes?”

Dean actually chuckled. “Come on, Sammy. It’s not like you’re designing a doll or something. He’ll turn out the way he’s meant to.”

“Uh-huh, but the first time he says ‘bite me,’” Sam teased, “your half of the Winchester genes get all of the blame.”

He heard Dean take a breath to utter a retort, but it never came. Sam’s hands were still on Dean’s stomach, so he felt it at the same moment that Dean did. 

A flutter. And then another one.

“Sammy,” Dean’s whisper was full of awe. “He’s still there. He’s all right.” 

Sam caressed his brother’s swollen stomach, as though he could touch the child within. “He sure is.”

Dean turned in Sam’s arms, face wet with happy tears. Sam kissed him, realizing as he did that his own face was damp. Sam’d known he’d wanted this child, with an ache that went deep, but he hadn’t realized just how deep until there was a possibility, however, small, that they’d lost the baby.

Sandwiched between them, the baby protected in Dean’s stomach moved again and they both felt it.

Dean laughed. “That’s right, you little bastard, kick all you want.”

“You’re going to regret saying that,” Sam warned him, laughing himself.

“No, I won’t,” Dean disagreed, eyes shining. 

And he never did. Complaining about it, though, was a whole different story.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted August 31, 2006


	22. Everybody's Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next chunk of chapters are in chronological order

Both Winchester boys were surprised to pull into the clinic parking lot and see their dad’s truck. Yet there it was, sitting in the sun next to Walter Skinner’s SUV as though it were an invited guest at the party.

“Huh,” Sam commented as he took the keys out of the ignition.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered under his breath. When Sam gave him a confused look, Dean explained. “Couple of phone calls back, Dad asked me when my next appointment with Dana was. Never figured he’d show up.”

Sam got out of the Impala and came around to the other side to help Dean out. “I don’t mind.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” Dean admitted as Sam helped him get to his feet. “It’s Walter.”

The parking lot was a little icy, so Sam kept a hand under Dean’s elbow for support as they made their careful way to the front door.

“Didn’t you say that you and Dad had been on a hunt with Skinner?” Sam asked. “Besides, I thought they were old Marine buddies.”

“They weren’t friends in the Marines, Sam,” Dean pointed out. “Walter was Dad’s CO and, from what I heard, he busted Dad’s chops a few times.

Sam grinned at the thought of anyone maintaining authority over his gruff, determined father. “This ought to be interesting, then.”

“It’ll be a bloodbath, Sam,” Dean disagreed. “Last time I saw Dad and Skinner in the same room, Walter said he’d have Dad up on charges if he ever saw him again.”

The two brothers stopped just shy of the door.

Sam sighed. “Dad does have that effect on people.”

“They just don’t understand his focus,” Dean defended their father. “He doesn’t have time to kiss many asses.”

“Wait a minute,” Sam stopped Dean from entering the building. “If there’s bad blood between Dad and Walter Skinner, then why did Walter spend so much time trying to talk us into telling Dad about the baby?”

“Because he might be a self-righteous windbag, but he’s still pretty smart.”

John had been standing in the shadows, waiting for his boys to arrive before going in. Once again, he’d been successful in sneaking up on his sons. Dean had jerked in surprise at the sound of his dad’s voice and then sagged against Sam’s support, causing the youngest Winchester to glare at their father. John shrugged and smiled sheepishly, having forgotten that it wasn’t nice to sneak up on the pregnant guy.

“Hello, boys.”

“What are you doing here?” Dean asked. Then seeming to realize he’d been a bit blunt with his father, softened his request a little. “You didn’t say you were going to be in the area.”

“I wanted to check on how you were doing,” John replied. “And I’d like to have a word or two with Walter Skinner.”

“I knew it,” Dean muttered under his breath.

“Dad, Dana and her husbands have been really good to us,” Sam stated, not wanting Dean to have to be the forceful one. His brother was stressed enough the way it was. “We don’t want any trouble, with Walter or with any of them.”

“Don’t worry, son,” John assured him as he held the door open for Dean. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Sam wasn’t reassured and, judging by his uncertain expression, neither was Dean. They entered the clinic, which was empty except for their three friends. Dana, Walter and Fox walked over to greet them, but Skinner was the only one with a smile on his face. Like the brothers, Dana and Fox seemed a little concerned.

“John, it’s good to see you.” Walter greeted the oldest Winchester, and then looked at the man’s two sons. “I’m glad to see you finally decided to let your dad in on the secret.”

“And why didn’t you tell me?” John demanded, hands fisted at his sides. Dana’s face maintained its normal calm veneer, but Fox visibly bristled at the challenging tone.

Walter Skinner just looked at John coolly. “And what’s more important to you -- knowing about the baby a couple of months sooner or for there to have been someone your children trusted enough to help Dean with his medical needs?”

Phrased like that, John could only have one response. His shoulders slumped as he lost his defiance. “You’re right.”

Sam was floored. His dad didn’t back down from much and never so quickly. Before anything else could be said, however, Dana stepped forward and took Dean by the arm.

“Come on, let’s take a look at you.” 

As the two began to make their way down the corridor towards the exam rooms, Sam followed. He motioned for his father to stay put and was glad to see John do so. Mostly, Sam didn’t mind sharing his and Dean’s life with their father or their joy in the coming baby, but that sentiment extended only so far.

“How are you feeling?” He heard Dana ask Dean. 

Sam was too far back to discern the answer, but from its brevity, assumed that his brother had used his universal response of ‘fine.’ That guess was verified when Dana looked over her shoulder at Sam with one eyebrow cocked. He hurried to catch up.

“He can’t sleep or get comfortable,” Sam provided. “And he’s experiencing that pelvic pressure you warned us about.”

“Tattletale,” Dean muttered as they reached the exam room.

Dana laughed at his pout. “It is important for me to know everything that’s going on with you, but in this case, I think you’re both right. All those changes Sam listed, if they’re correct, are normal for someone this far along in a pregnancy.” She looked at Dean pointedly. “They are correct, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Dean admitted, out of breath from the short jaunt down the hall. Sam helped him up onto the exam table.

A gown wasn’t necessary, since just about the only thing Dean could get into were oversized t-shirts and sweats anyway. Dana expertly moved the clothing out of the way so she could asses Dean’s protruding stomach.

“Well, everything seems fine to me,” Dana announced after a few minutes and a couple of more pointed questions. “The baby’s dropping, which means I think we have the cesarean well-timed.”

“About that,” Dean stated, “Today’s the day you’re going to give us more details, right?”

“Yes,” she confirmed readily, “but first I’d like to do another ultrasound.”

Sam was standing beside the exam table and felt his brother tense. “Why? You didn’t feel anything wrong, did you?”

Dana seemed surprised at his question. “What? No, of course not, I would have told you if that were the case. I just need to get another look at Dean’s internal structure, in preparation for the surgery.”

With a great deal of relief, the young men followed her to the appropriate room. This would be the third ultrasound Dean was given and they were old hands at the procedure. That didn’t take away from the sense of wonder they felt, however, at seeing the image of the son on the screen. Dana did a more extensive view of Dean’s entire abdominal cavity, but graciously printed off some pictures for the anxious parents.

“Could you do another one?” Dean asked, almost shyly. When Sam looked at him with question marks in his eyes, Dean shrugged. “I thought Dad might like a copy.”

In a few minutes it was over and then the necessary blood was drawn. Dana sent them back to the lobby when that was over while she did the necessary background tasks. 

Their father’s strident voice could be heard while they were still out of view. “You married Krycek?”

Dean sighed. “I’m so glad he’s on his best behavior.”

When they entered the room, Walter was holding Fox back.

“Dad,” Sam protested. “You promised.”

“Everybody hold on a minute,” Skinner commanded. “John has a right to be concerned.” He shook Mulder gently by the shoulders. “And you know that, Fox.” When Mulder reluctantly nodded, Walter returned his attention to John Winchester. “Alex is a changed man, John.”

“He tried to kill you, more than once,” John growled. “Don’t know that I would have let him live long enough to change.”

Walter smiled. “Just as Fox here has taught me to accept the unbelievable and Dana that compassion is still alive and well in the world, Alex has had something to teach me too.”

“What could that weasel possibly have to teach, except to watch your back?” John demanded.

“The power of redemption,” Walter stated simply. For him, the matter was obviously closed and he turned to the boys. “Is everything all right with Dean?”

“Fine,” Dean answered, stepping on Sam’s foot. Sam took the hint and didn’t add anything. Then again, their father was there and he didn’t have to.

“And did Dana think he was fine too?” John asked pointedly, looking at Sam for an answer.

“I’m right here,” Dean complained, waving his hand in front of his father’s face. “And I said I was fine.”

“Uh-huh,” John grunted. “Samuel, I asked you a question.”

“Dean’s fine, Dad,” Sam stated. And then, conveniently ignoring his own questioning of his brother’s self-assessment, added, “Just like he said.”

The fib was worth it, to see Dean’s smile.

Before John could question Sam’s statement, Dana came into the lobby. She pulled up short, seeming to sense the tension in the air. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine.”

If Dana was surprised to hear the same word come out of all three Winchesters’ mouths, she didn’t show it. 

“Dean is certainly doing well,” Dana didn’t react to the smug look the brothers gave their father. “We might as well sit and get comfortable. I promised Sam and Dean that we’d talk about the cesarean today.”

They all followed her to the chairs, including her two husbands. As soon as everyone was situated, Dana addressed the group, reserving the majority of her attention for the expectant parents.

“Nothing I’ve seen today makes me want to change the date we’d already scheduled.” Dana stated. “As far as I’m concerned, we’ll be doing your cesarean three weeks from today.”

Dean let out a big breath. “Okay.”

Sam touched his brother’s arm. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Dean’s answering smile was a little shaky. “I’m fine.”

“Dean, there’s nothing wrong with being a little worried,’ Dana reassured him, too savvy to take that particular ‘fine’ claim at face value. “Cesarean procedures are done every day and are considered routine. I have no doubt that I can safely do the procedure.” She hesitated and then continued. “But it is surgery and not something I can do alone.”

Sam sat straighter in his chair, nervous at the thought of other people being in on their secret. “How many other people are we talking about?”

“At a minimum, a surgical nurse and an anesthesiologist,” Dana supplied. “I’d really be happier with two nurses.”

“You’re talking about two or three people,” Dean commented, worry obvious on his face.

“It can’t be helped,” Dana asserted. “I know how concerned you are about anyone finding out that Dean’s giving birth and I understand your worry about the potential for exploitation, but it can’t be helped. Dean’s wellbeing and that of the child are of paramount importance. If it helps, I do have a couple of people in mind and I trust them completely.”

“Just like you trust Krycek?” John asked pointedly.

“I know who she’s talking about.” Mulder chimed in, ignoring John’s comment. “They owe us and they know what it means to want to stay under the radar.”

Walter just nodded solemnly, giving his unspoken support to his wife’s choice.

“All right,” Dean conceded. “We trust you on this.”

Dana’s smile was slight, but sincere. “Thank you.” 

“What else?” Sam asked, discerning concern beneath her expression.

“The procedure can’t be done here,” Dana admitted. “The clinic doesn’t have the right facilities.”

“Oh,” Dean said in a small voice.

“So what’s he supposed to do,” John demanded. “Have the kid in a manger somewhere?”

Dana fingered her crucifix. “No, not exactly.” 

“The FBI recently shut down an illegal adoption ring,” Walter broke in. “They were shipping girls in from all over the country to their mini-hospital to give birth. It’s small; it’s isolated; and, best of all, it’s a fully functional birthing center.”

“Sounds good,” Dean replied. “Where is it?”

“Actually, it’s closer to you than the clinic,” Walter answered.

“Were these adoptions consensual?” John asked abruptly. “These girls, they weren’t being forced to give up their babies, were they?”

“What does it matter?” Mulder asked. He wasn’t challenging the older man, just displaying his usual curiosity.

“Because that kind of experience can leave its mark,” John explained gruffly. “Taint a place with a strong negative vibe. If that’s the case, then some sort of cleansing will have to be done, before it’s safe to use.”

Walter nodded. “Let’s you and I take a trip out there, John, in the next week and make sure that’s not the case.” He smiled tightly. “We can talk more about Alex while we work.”

John flinched.

After wrapping up a few more mundane details about the cesarean itself, the Winchesters took their leave of their friends and left the clinic. 

As they walked out, Dean questioned his dad. “So why do you have it in for this Alex that they’re married to?”

John shoved his hands into his pockets. “Let’s just say that I’ve run into Alex Krycek on a couple of hunts and it wasn’t easy to tell which side he was on.”

“So you don’t know he’s a bad guy,” Sam interjected.

“No,” the admission was grudging and John was quick to qualify it. “But I don’t know he’s a good guy either. I don’t want him anywhere near your brother, or you. Not until I’m more sure of him.”

“All right,” Dean agreed. “I trust Dana and Walter’s judgment, even if Foxy’s is a little questionable, but I trust yours more.”

“Good,” John smiled and, then suddenly awkward, slapped Dean on the shoulder. “You take care of yourself. Sammy, watch out for your brother. I’ll call you and let you know how this adoption hospital of Skinner’s checks out.”

Not waiting for a response, he strode off to his truck. The brother’s looked at each other, amused at their dad’s gruff display of emotions.

“You don’t think he’s really that worried about Krycek, do you?” Sam asked, knowing that Dean was the expert on John Winchester.

“Nah,” Dean scoffed. “He’s just worried about the baby and everything and this Alex guy’s an easy target.”

Mentioning the baby made Dean suddenly remember the photo he’d asked Dana to make for John.

“Crap.” He muttered and then called out to his father loudly. “Dad, I forgot to give you something.” 

Dean waddled towards John’s truck and John met him halfway. Dean fished an ultrasound photo out of his pocket and handed it to the other man. “Here. I thought you might want this.”

John looked at him in confusion and took the proffered piece of paper. Sam joined them just as their father realized what it was. John’s breath caught and Sam could tell the moment that the hand holding the photo started to shake.

“Dad, you okay?” Dean asked.

John took a deep, shaky breath, but his smile was like the sun coming out.

“I’m fine.”

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted September 1, 2006


	23. Ready

Even an old dog could learn new tricks; John Winchester was proof of that. After walking in on Dean and Sam in a somewhat compromising position, John had learned to knock instead of just walking into their apartment. Not that the position his sons had been in had been all that compromising, given that Dean was almost eight months pregnant, but it was still a sensitive subject for the eldest Winchester.

So Sam wasn’t entirely surprised to answer the door and find his father there. After all, he and Dean didn’t get that many visitors. He was mildly surprised, however, to see that John was carrying two rather large duffle bags.

“Hey, Dad,” Sam greeted his father, rubbing his hand against his face. Even though it was Saturday afternoon, the doorbell had awakened him. “Dean’s taking a nap.”

“Good,” John grunted as he hefted one of his bags. “He looked wiped out when I stopped by a couple of days ago.”

Sam automatically grabbed the other bag and followed his father into the living room. No wonder John had grunted, it was heavy.

“Planning on staying a while this time?” He asked his father.

He’d meant the comment as a conversation starter, figuring that John had just brought in some sort of hunting equipment that he wanted to show them. Sam wasn’t quite prepared to find out that he was right.

“Yeah, I’m here for the duration,” John explained, oblivious to his youngest son’s gape-mouthed reaction. He dumped the duffle he was carrying on the couch and, numb, Sam did the same.

“Excuse me?” Sam finally asked.

John met his eyes. “I got to thinking, about the way it was with your mother in those last couple of weeks each time she was pregnant with one of you boys. It was damn hard to go off and leave her while I was at work. And that was knowing that Mary was surrounded by people she could call if something happened with the baby while I was gone.” He shuffled his feet as he looked uncharacteristically embarrassed. “With Dean, it’s even worse because no one knows. If he needs something and he can’t call you, he’s screwed.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam replied softly as he scrubbed his hands across his face. Just that thought had been keeping him up nights. Unfortunately, they needed the money and staying home from work just wasn’t an option.

“I know I’m not much, but I’m all you’ve got,” John stated. From the uncertain look on his face, he probably misconstrued Sam’s pensive response. “There’s a factory across town hiring for the night shift. I start tomorrow night. Way I figure it, I’ll be here during the day and you’ll be here the rest of the time. That way Dean won’t ever be alone.” 

John straightened his shoulders and looked Sam in the eye. “I know you think I let you and Dean down when you were kids and you’re probably right. I can’t change that. But I am going to be here for Dean, for both of you, during the rest of this. 100%.”

Sam didn’t know what kind of response his father was expecting to his soliloquy, but from the stiffness of his body posture, it probably wasn’t Sam coming up and engulfing him in a bear hug.

“Thanks, Dad,” Sam’s voice was muffled as he buried his face into his father’s neck. “Thank you so much.”

John held still for a moment and then his hands came up to awkwardly pat his son on the back. “Sammy? You okay?”

Laughing softly, Sam tried to pull away, but only partially succeeded. “These days? I don’t know. I thought Dean was supposed to be the one at the mercy of his hormones, but look at me.”

His father kept a firm grip on Sam’s shoulders. “Contemplating fatherhood’s a weighty thing, Sam.” His smile was lopsided. “You should have seen the way I acted when your mom was pregnant with Dean.”

“Really?” Sam’s voice was hopeful. If his normally unflappable dad admitted to some pre-fatherhood jitters, then maybe Sam wasn’t such a loser.

“Really,” John assured him. He tugged his son towards the living room and sat them both down. “Your mother, most of the time she humored me, but this one time. . . .” He shook his head. “Well, let’s just say that Dean almost ended up an only child because Mary came awfully close to kicking my ass to the curb.”

“What did you do?” Sam asked.

John grimaced. “I might have questioned her judgment about something she felt I had no right to. Doesn’t really matter what it was.” He smiled grimly. “That’s why I told you to be sneakier with Dean. He’s a lot like your mom.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, it’s been going better since I let him think everything’s his idea.” He looked at his father expectantly. “But it’s still hard to get him to take that damn iron pill.”

“So you want me to be the bad guy and make your brother take his pills?” John was smiling when he said it and Sam shrugged sheepishly. “All right, I suppose I can do that. Lord knows I’ve put both of you boys through your paces from time to time.” He looked at Sam pointedly. “You do know there’ll be hell to pay if Dean figures out we’re double teaming him?”

Sam grinned, feeling lighter of heart than he had in weeks. “So we make sure he doesn’t find out.”

John snorted and then started to laugh. Sam found himself joining in, far harder than the comment warranted.

“What’s so funny?”

Dean was standing in the doorway, hair rumpled and a crabby look on his face. Sam’s laughter tried to bubble up even louder at the sight of his brother, but he shoved it down. It was Dean’s timing that was funny, not his condition, but there was no way for Dean to know that. In spite of the nap, there were still circles under Dean’s eyes and he stood with one hand pressed to his back, as he did all too frequently these days. Getting up, Sam moved to help his brother, but Dean waved him off. John scooted over on the couch and Dean carefully lowered himself down to sit next to him.

“Dad’s staying for a while,” Sam explained. “Until the baby arrives.” 

“Is that so?” Dean raised one eyebrow skeptically as he looked at his father. “I hate to break it to you, Dad, but you usually don’t need a babysitter until after, you know, the baby is born.”

“Babysitter?” John asked. “You think that’s what this is about?”

“Isn’t it?” Dean demanded. “Gotta make sure that someone’s with poor, pregnant Dean all the time. The hormones have fried his brain and he’s so big he not be able to get himself up off the toilet.”

“Dean, no one thinks that way-. . . .” Sam tried to reassure him, but John spoke over Sam’s calming words.

“Don’t think that because your belly’s that big that I can’t or won’t put you over my knee,” John threatened his eldest. “That’s the stupidest, most self-indulgent thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.”

Grateful for his father’s support or not, there was only so much of that Sam would take. His voice was an edged knife that cut through the other man’s angry words.

“You lay a finger on him, Dad, and I swear to God that it’s the last thing you ever do,” Sam declared. From the wide-eyed looks he got from the other two, he sounded like he meant it. That was good, because he definitely had.

“All right,” Sam said more calmly now that he had their attention. “Dean, Dad’s got a good point. You’re alone and without transportation. It’s not like you can call 911 if you need something when I’m not around.” His voice softened. “And maybe Dad would like to be around for the birth of his grandson, did you think of that? Maybe it would be a good idea to have him bunk down here until Michael arrives.”

Dean huffed, but settled down. “Okay, he can stay here. On two conditions.”

“What’s that?” John asked, startled. He was more used to Sam being the pissy one and Dean calming his brother down.

“First, I’m not going to stop touching Sam just because you have a problem with it,” Dean stated baldly. “This our home and we’ll be as affectionate as we want.” Seeing his father grimace, he rolled his eyes. “There. That there is what I’m talking about. I’m not saying we’re going to bunny fuck on the couch while you watch or anything, but this is our home. I’m not going to let anyone dictate how we act in it.”

“All right,” John conceded. “Just. . . try to take it easy on your old man, okay? I’m a little old fashioned.”

“Good, we can agree on something,” Sam commented. “What’s the second condition?”

Dean crossed his hands on top of his belly. “Pregnant guy gets first dibs on the bathroom. No exceptions.”

Relieved, Sam laughed lightly. “Is that it?”

“Hey, you try having something the size of a bowling ball press on your bladder and see how funny it is, chucklehead,” Dean grumbled. 

“I think I can live with those rules,” John confirmed.

“You better,” Dean warned him.

Dinner was delivered pizza and Dean’s mood improved immensely once he had some food in him. In fact, when their father brought up the subject of moving, it was Sam who objected.

“Sammy,” John pointed out after the last piece of pizza was gone. “Men don’t get pregnant. At least, that’s what the civilians think. No one looks at a man with Dean’s shape and immediately thinks that there’s a baby in there. But when a man they’ve seen around the neighborhood, getting increasingly larger, disappears for a few days and comes back with a newborn, a few of them might start putting two and two together. Especially when said man’s gut is noticeably smaller. I just think that it would be a bad idea for the two of you to come back here after the baby is born.”

“Yeah, but we’re comfortable here,” Sam complained. “And Dean’s in no shape to do any packing.”

“You and I have no restrictions,” John pointed out. “And you’ve got more stuff to move than we have in the past, but it’s still not a lot.”

“He’s right, Sam,” Dean admitted, although his tone was laden with reluctance. “It’s probably best that the people who saw me pregnant don’t see me with a little baby.” He looked around at their apartment mournfully. “Even if this place does seem like home.”

Sam sighed, seeing the logic in it even if he didn’t like it. “Okay, I guess you’re right.”

“Good,” John replied. “Now, we have to decide if you want to stay in Richmond or if you want to go somewhere else. Lawrence? Or maybe back to California?”

The brothers looked at each other, startled at the suggestion to move out of the state. Sam could see in Dean’s face, though, that the idea was as distasteful to Dean as it was to him.

“I think we should stay in town,” Sam said slowly. “Maybe just a different part of town. I mean, I have a good job and we’ll need to stay put for a few months until the baby is old enough to travel.”

“Try a year, maybe two,” John advised them. Both of the boys were surprised, expecting their father to be urging them back to hunting right away. “What kind of obsessed fool do you take me for? You can’t wander all over the country with a tiny baby.”

Sam let out a deep breath. He’d been thinking along the same lines, but he knew that Dean was a more avid hunter. He’d been afraid that their dad would lure Dean back into the lifestyle prematurely. 

“Getting vengeance for what happened to your mother, to Jessica, is my quest. My responsibility.” John said quietly. “It’s a part of our family’s history. You two and the life you’ve made between you, that’s our family’s future. That’s your quest, your responsibility.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Dean said softly and Sam knew he wouldn’t have to worry about his brother leaving to hunt. No doubt hunting would always be part of their lives, but not their entire life and that suited him just fine.

Their conversation moved to lighter topics, such as whether they should rent another apartment or a house. The decision was made to look for a house, preferably for one with three bedrooms. Even John, it seemed, had grown used to the idea of being a family again. After the baby arrived, he wouldn’t be with them all the time, but it made both boys happy to know that their dad intended on stopping by regularly.

A little while later, Sam took the pizza boxes outside to dump them. While he was there, he felt the pull of the Impala and, knowing their father was keeping Dean busy, gave into it. He trotted over to the car and unlocked it. Instead of going for the driver’s seat, though, Sam’s attention went to the rear of the vehicle. An old quilt lay across the back seat and Sam twitched it back. 

The quilt covered the supplies that Sam had been quietly gathering over the last few weeks. Towels, old but clean, were crammed into the space behind the driver’s seat. The back seat itself was several inches higher, with all the blankets carefully folded there. And the most important part of the collection was a sterilized first aid kit, sealed and ready for use, that was stowed behind the passenger’s seat.

“That’s quite a stash you’ve got there, kiddo.”

Sam whirled at his father’s voice. John Winchester was standing behind him, holding a garbage sack in one hand. Obviously, Dean was not wasting any time giving their dad some chores to do.

“I - . . . .” Sam was at a loss to explain what he’d been hiding.

John put the garbage bag down and leaned into the car, looking over Sam’s preparations. “Your brother’s having a C-section, this stuff won’t be needed.”

“I know,” Sam admitted, miserable.

“Seeing the person you love carrying your child, it stirs some powerful protective feelings,” John stated. “Is that what’s going on here, Sam, or is it something more? One of those visions you boys told me about?”

Sam’s shoulders hunched. “I don’t know. I just felt like I had to gather this stuff. I don’t know why. There’s been no special vision, just an uneasiness.”

“I see.” John looked in the back of the Impala again. “You might want to add a couple gallons of water. If we need this stuff, there’s not going to be any time to boil any.”

He stood and picked up the bag again, walking towards the dumpster. Sam was a little discombobulated. He’d expected his father to tell him was being paranoid and stupid. That John had done no such thing wasn’t entirely comforting.

The two men walked shoulder to shoulder back to the apartment. Before they entered, Sam stopped his father.

“I meant what I said about laying a finger on Dean,” Sam warned his dad. “I don’t care how cranky he gets, if you so much as think about spanking him or anything like that, you won’t live to regret it.”

The corners of John’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “You know, I always imagined that when each of you boys found someone to settle down with, that I’d have to take that person out and give them the ‘if you hurt my boy, you’re dead’ speech. When you went off to college, I realized that wouldn’t be necessary for you. I’d always worry about you being safe, but not that you’d ever let anyone walk over you. Dean, though, is a whole ‘nother story.”

Sam put his hands in his pockets and settled in to listen.

“When that bitch, Cassie, dumped him,” John continued, eyes glittering with anger, “I thought I’d have to go back and gut her, but he got over it. Eventually. I knew the next time, though, he might not.” The look he gave Sam was assessing. “But it’s you Dean’s with and that’s both comforting and it scares the hell out of me.”

“I won’t hurt him,” Sam said quietly. The word ‘again’ was left unsaid. They both knew that Sam had hurt Dean just as badly as Cassie had when he’d left for college.

“I know that, son.” John stated. “You’re a good man. You both are.”

He turned to go in, but Sam stopped him with a hand on the arm.

“That’s nice, Dad, but it doesn’t change anything,” Sam reminded him. “You touch him, you die.”

“Oh, I had no intention of doing anything like that,” John admitted with a mischievous grin. “But threatening him with it got Dean to stop feeling sorry for himself, didn’t it?”

Sam shook his head as he watched his dad precede him into the apartment building. Although he was profoundly grateful that their father would be at their side when the baby came, it was something of a mixed blessing. 

Life with John Winchester was many things, but dull was not one of them. It was going to be an interesting couple of weeks until the baby arrived.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted September 2, 2006


	24. Set

The Winchester men had an honest-to-God routine. It was almost frightening in its normalcy, with the notable exception of Dean being pregnant.

John worked at a box factory on the overnight shift. He started at eleven in the evening and got done at seven in the morning, meaning he was usually coming home at about the time Sam was leaving. Dean had a light meal with each man and then John would help with chores like packing for the rest of the morning. After lunch, they’d both take a nap.

When Sam returned after work, the three of them would have dinner and then John would go back to bed while the boys spent the evening together. Often, Sam and Dean would go on a short walk or something similar that was designed to help Dean be as active as he was capable of. They went to bed about the time things would just be getting started, back in their hunting days. Sam didn’t mind. Dean tired easily and Sam’s job was pretty physical. Besides, if he wasn’t worn out enough to sleep, Sam would just lie there and watch Dean, daydreaming about their future family as he rubbed his brother’s stomach.

John did the brunt of the work in finding them a house to rent. He scoured the papers and visited potential houses, sometimes with Dean waiting in the truck. Given the reason they were moving in the first place, it had been decided that Dean couldn’t be seen at the new place until after the baby was born. John took digital photos to make up for it and Sam went with him to look the three finalists. A ranch-style house on the other side of town was their ultimate choice. Not only did a single level house mean no carrying a newborn up and down stairs, but their home in Lawrence had had two stories and none of them wanted the reminder.

The weeks before the scheduled cesarean flew by and Sam felt like a kid counting down to Christmas. Before he knew it, the birth of their child was just three days away. It seemed ridiculously close and yet far too long to have to wait. Sam hated to go to work, but knew he’d resent the time away even more once the baby arrived. Their father’s presence was a godsend. As the time approached and Sam’s exuberance grew, Dean became more introspective and quiet. Sam figured his brother was just nervous about the upcoming birth and he couldn’t say that he blamed him. John was a steadying influence on both of them.

When Sam came home from work that night, he was looking forward to marking another day off the calendar, but he got a bad feeling when he entered the kitchen and it was his father behind the stove instead of Dean.

“Hey, Dad,” Sam greeted the other man. “Where’s Dean?”

John looked up from his cooking. “In the bedroom, taking a load off.”

Sam frowned, even more concerned. “Is he feeling okay?”

“He’s been a little restless,” John explained. 

“Restless?” Sam repeated. That didn’t sound so bad. Encouraged, he headed towards the bedroom they shared.

“And crabby as hell,” John called out as Sam headed down the corridor. “You might want to put a cup on first.”

With that warning in mind, Sam opened their bedroom door slowly. Dean was stretched out on his side, facing away from the door, and Sam couldn’t tell if he was awake or not.

“I don’t care what he told you, I’m fine,” Dean stated, answering the question about whether he was sleeping or not. 

Sam smiled at the use of the ever-popular word ‘fine.’ He bent and started untying his steel-toed work boots. “We just worry is all.” 

When he got his shoes off, Sam knelt on the bed and crawled his way over to Dean. He plastered himself to his brother’s back, snuggling close. Despite his sullen tone, Dean pressed back, obviously enjoying the touch.

“Yeah, well, worry on your own time,” Dean complained, his vocal tone full of exhaustion. “The two of you are driving me bug-eyed crazy.”

Sam kissed the nape of his brother’s neck, smiling when it caused Dean to shiver. “You know how worried you get when I have a vision, Dean?” He asked, seemingly off topic. “There’s nothing you can do to help me, you can only stand near and watch while I try to deal with the pain and what it does to me.”

Dean stiffened in his arms. “Thanks for the reminder, Sammy.” Dean turned awkwardly so that he was facing Sam. “Did you have a vision or something?”

Shaking his head, Sam explained. “The way you feel when I have a vision, powerless and wanting to help, but not being able to? That’s the way I feel about your pregnancy, except it’s been eight months since we found out that you were pregnant and not just a few seconds like a vision.”

Dean winced. Sam felt like a jerk for making his brother feel guilty, but it was important that Dean understand.

“That’s different,” Dean protested. “The visions are weird and we don’t know if they’ll hurt you or not.”

Sam snorted. “And being a guy and pregnant is normal? Dude, it’s no different at all.”

“It’s still not the same,” Dean disagreed mulishly.

He knew his brother well enough to know what Dean wasn’t saying. It was different because it was ingrained in Dean’s nature to worry about Sam; the reverse just wasn’t part of his older brother’s world view. Well, Dean had better get used to it, because Sam was all about changing that.

“Indulge us,” Sam coaxed. “Dad and I can’t boil water and all that crap, so fussing over you is what we’re reduced to.”

“It makes me feel useless,” Dean muttered.

“You’re not useless,” Sam encouraged him, hands reaching up to cup Dean’s face. “You’re nurturing the baby. Nothing, and I mean nothing, is more important than that.” He kissed Dean gently. “I don’t know when I’ve ever been more proud of you. I don’t know that I could have done what you have the past several months.”

“That was beautiful, Sammy,” from the gleam in Dean’s eyes, Sam could tell that his brother meant it. Even as he watched, though, that gleam turned into a twinkle. “You just thrive on that chick flick crap, don’t you? I guess that answers the question about which one of us Mikey’ll call ‘Mommy.’”

Far from offended, Sam laughed. Reaching out to possessively stroke Dean’s stomach, he used his manliest tone of voice to shoot back a retort. “Hey, I was stud enough to plant this bun in the oven.”

“Sammy,” Dean laughed. “If I could raise my leg more than six inches, I’d kick your ass for that.”

The laughter was welcome and Sam used the lightened mood to good effect. He cajoled Dean into coming out to the kitchen to have dinner with him and John, but it didn’t turn out quite the way he expected. Dean squirmed on his chair, obviously unable to get comfortable. When asked what was wrong, Dean would only admit that he had an itch. Worse yet, he only picked at his food, even though John had made fried potatoes and sausage, normally a favorite of Dean’s.

“Maybe we should call Dana.” Sam finally commented, after having watched his brother play with his food instead of eating any of it. 

“No way,” Dean said flatly. “She’s done enough for us the way it is. We’re not disturbing her on her night off because the two of you are acting like a couple of old women.”

“And if she finds out later and it was something you were supposed to call her about,” John observed dryly, “Do you really want to be the one who tells her why you didn’t?”

Sam hid a grin. Dana Scully normally had a cool, collected way about her, but she also had little patience for people who didn’t take care of themselves or follow doctor’s orders. Dean had been on the receiving end of several lectures already and Sam hadn’t been able to hide his glee. Seeing his big, brawny brother so meek in front of the petite doctor, saying “yes, ma’am” and “no, ma’am” at the appropriate spots, had been satisfying, given how much crap Dean gave Sam when Sam tried to get him to do what he was supposed to.

“You dial,” Dean growled at Sam. “I want you to be the one to tell Walter why we’re interrupting their down time.”

Under the circumstances, Sam didn’t mind being the sacrificial lamb. When Walter answered the call, Sam asked for Dana, being careful to mention that it wasn’t an emergency. 

“Hello, Sam,” Dana didn’t ask what was wrong, but Sam could sense her concern by the tone of her voice.

“Sorry to bother you, Dana,” Sam explained. “But Dean’s been feeling a little off and Dad and I convinced him we should talk to you.”

”You did the right thing,” she assured him. “What do you mean by ‘off’?”

“Thanks, we kind of figured you should know and that it was the right thing to do,” Sam made a point of saying, staring at his brother while he did. Dean grimaced and rolled his eyes. “He’s restless and can’t get comfortable. And he itches.”

“Itches?” Sam could almost see the frown Dana was wearing through the phone line. “That’s odd. Let me talk to him.”

Sam extended the phone to Dean. “She wants to talk to you.” He tried not to be too smug as he said it, but given how Dean rolled his eyes, may not have been completely successful.

“Hey, Dana,” Dean said into the phone. As hard as he was trying to be nonchalant, Sam could see how tense his brother’s body posture was and noticed that one hand had come up to rest protectively on his stomach. “Yeah, it itches.”

Dean was obviously aware that Sam and John were unabashedly listening in to the conversation, because he blushed and squirmed in his seat. “Well, it itches, you know, down there.” His face grew still as the doctor reacted to his statement. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yeah, that makes sense.”

It was frustrating to only be able to hear one part of the conversation. Sam was about to go pick up the phone in the bedroom when Dean wrapped it up.

“Okay, if you think it’s best,” his brother said, face resigned. “Dad knows where it is, right? What time you want me there? All right, see you then. Thanks, Dana.”

After Dean hung up the phone, he looked at his father and brother. “She thinks that it’s just the baby moving into position to be born. Mikey doesn’t know that his little room isn’t hooked up to anything and that he can’t come out the old fashioned way.”

“But she still wants to check you out.” Sam stated. It wasn’t quite a question.

“Yeah, about seven in the morning at that hospital place where the baby’ll be born. As long as we’re going to be there anyway, she’s also going to go over the background of the people who’ll be helping.”

John had gone the week before to check the place out with Walter Skinner. He’d declared himself satisfied, both in the lack of negative vibes and in the state of the facilities themselves. They were also feeling a little bit better about the friends Dana was bringing in to assist her. Neither of them would be told ahead of time that they would be assisting with a male giving birth. Instead, they’d been told they would be helping out a mother on the run from a domestic situation with a husband in the FBI. Dana had used the excuse that the woman was too afraid of her spouse tracking her down to use a traditional hospital. After the birth, the plan was for Dean and the baby to disappear as soon as possible, so that even in the unlikely event that her friends weren’t as trustworthy as Dana thought, there’d be no way for them to substantiate the story.

“Well, sounds like you were right and it’s nothing to be concerned about,” Sam commented as he got up and started clearing dishes from the table. “But I’m still glad you called.”

His father caught Sam’s eye and winked at him. Sam ducked his head to keep his smile from showing. So far, Dean hadn’t caught on to how Sam’d been handling him or that John had been in on the friendly manipulation.

The rest of the evening passed quietly enough, although Sam got to see firsthand what John had meant when he said that Dean was restless. The pregnant man just couldn’t seem to sit still. Even curled up with Sam on the couch to watch a movie, he squirmed and wiggled. Finally, Sam had him sit up and he gave his brother a back rub. That worked, at least for as long as Sam’s hands were moving. When the backrub was over, the restlessness came back and Sam finally suggested they go to bed. 

He expected to be tossing and turning all night, but Sam fell asleep quickly. He woke up a few hours later, though, and found himself alone in bed. Concerned, he got up to track down his brother. He’d expected to find the other man in the bathroom, but when that idea didn’t pan out, went down the hall to the kitchen. He found Dean sitting at the kitchen table, stirring a bowl of half-melted ice cream with a disinterested look on his face. His brother was still wearing the gray t-shirt and knit boxers that he’d worn to bed.

“Hey, are you all right?” Sam asked. He pulled out a chair and joined his brother, dipping one finger into the ice cream soup and licking it off.

Dean shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought maybe I was hungry.” He shoved the bowl away. “I guess not.”

Sam covered Dean’s hands with his own, noticing as he did that his brother’s were cold. “You know, if I were contemplating someone cutting me open, I would be a little freaked about it.”

That comment got him a glare. “I’m not afraid of a little pain, Sam.”

Personally, Sam didn’t think that being cut open and a baby lifted out of you involved only a little pain, but didn’t want to break Dean’s bubble. “Then what is it?”

Dean jerked his hands out of Sam’s and wrapped his arms around his belly. “It took me awhile, but I know what to expect with Mikey in here. Once he’s born, it’s a whole new ball game.”

Sam smiled gently. “You’re going to be a great dad, Dean.”

Shaking his head, Dean argued. “And what do I have to teach him, Sammy? How to shoot a gun? Credit card fraud?” His gaze was haunted when he met Sam’s eyes. “That’ll give Mikey a great start on life.”

“You taught me to tie my shoes and ride a bike,” Sam replied gently. “You’re also the person that taught me that saving innocent people from phenomena they can barely imagine is more important than personal vengeance. And that family is more important than anything.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked, expression turning hopeful.

“Yeah,” Sam confirmed, squeezing Dean’s hand.

“You’ll both be good fathers,” John’s voice startled them both. “Except when you lead by bad example. What are you two doing up?”

Sam ignored the question to ask one of his own. “What are you doing home?”

John shrugged and leaned on the doorframe. “I stuck around here so I could help you boys, not to work in some factory. Seemed to me that it was more important to be here tonight than it was to be cutting cardboard.”

“Son of a bitch, not you too,” Dean complained as he made his awkward way to his feet. “It’s bad enough that Sam treats me like-. . . .”

Dean’s voice broke off and he got a strange look on his face.

Sam moved forward. “Dean, are you all right?”

“I don’t know,” Dean answered. “I feel weird.”

All of a sudden, Dean clutched at the back of the chair and, by the time Sam moved around the table to help him, a growing wet spot was darkening the soft gray fabric of Dean’s knit boxers. The kitchen was silent except for the faint piddling sound of drops hitting the linoleum.

“Hey, it’s all right,” Sam soothed, reacting instinctively to the expression of embarrassment and distress on Dean’s face. “You said yourself that it’s like a bowling ball pressing on your bladder. It’s no surprise you had an accident, it’s only a wonder that it took this long.”

Sam wrapped an arm around Dean’s shoulders. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

John was already bending down with paper towels and beginning to clean the mess. As his sons moved away, however, his voice brought them to a screeching halt.

“Boys, this isn’t urine,” John stated tensely. He looked up. “Dean, I think your water just broke”

Dean stared at him blankly and then gave a sick little laugh. “Good one, Dad. I don’t have anywhere for water to break out of, remember?”

Their father stood and reached for Dean. “Humor me, son. Let me take a look.”

Sam could feel his brother shaking as Dean shrank away from their dad’s hands. “No way.”

“Dean, it’s all right,” Sam tried to calm the other man. “He’s not going to touch anything, he just wants to take a look.”

“My water couldn’t have broken, that’s not the way it’s supposed to happen,” Dean shook his head. “Dad’s not looking down there, not while I’m still breathing.”

“How about if Sammy does it?” John suggested and then didn’t wait for an answer. “Samuel, take your brother into the other room and help him get cleaned up.” He gave Sam a pointed look, clearly indicating that cleaning up wasn’t the only thing that was supposed to happen. “Dean, I want you to listen to your brother and let him help you.”

Sam took a deep breath and forced himself to be calm. “Come on, Dean. Those damp clothes can’t feel good. Let’s get you into the bedroom and get you into something dry.”

With similar coaxing and encouragement, Sam got Dean into their bedroom. Since theirs was the master bedroom, it had a small bathroom connected to it. Sam left Dean sitting on the bed and ran to get a damp washcloth and a couple of towels. When he came back, Dean was sitting on the edge of the mattress, his arms wrapped around himself as far as they would go, and eyes wide with shock.

“Here we go,” Sam commented, trying to keep his voice devoid of fear. “You’ll feel better in just a minute.”

Dean cooperated as Sam guided him out of his boxers, but stayed mute. As Sam wiped his brother down, he took the opportunity to look in between Dean’s legs and what he saw there rocked him back onto his heels.

“Boys, everything all right?” John’s tense voice came through the bedroom door.

“Uh, Dad,” Sam gulped. “There’s, um, an opening here that wasn’t there before.”

There was a taut silence and then John responded.

“I’m calling Dana.” He slapped the door twice. “Be ready to roll in five minutes.”

“Aw, hell,” Dean muttered, coming out of the stupor he’d been in since the kitchen.

“Dean, it’ll be all right,” Sam assured him, helping Dean into a pair of sweatpants. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.” He grabbed Dean’s arms, preparing to help his brother off the bed.

“Sam, wait a minute,” Dean begged him. When Sam looked at his brother’s face, Dean’s eyes seemed even greener than normal in his pale face, but his expression was resolute. “I want you to know that, whatever happens, I have no regrets.”

Sam tried to laugh, but it came out closer to a sob. “Don’t talk like that. This is a birth, Dean, a celebration of life. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“I’m just saying, is all,” Dean repeated solemnly. “No regrets. Not about us, not about the baby, not about anything.”

“Me neither,” Sam agreed, bending forward to kiss Dean fiercely. “Now let’s get you to some medical help. I don’t know about you, but I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout birthin’ no babies.”

Dean stared at him in disbelief and then chuckled. “Dude, that was so lame.”

“Yeah, but if you laughed at it, what does that make you?” Sam grunted as he pulled Dean from the bed. 

His joke, every bit as lame as Dean had accused, had broken the seriousness of the moment. Not that Sam didn’t like Dean’s declarations of love, but the finality of his brother’s comment had scared him.

With an arm wrapped around Dean’s waist, Sam helped him to the door. They found John just on the other side, in the process of folding up his cell phone.

“Dana wants us to haul ass to that abandoned hospital,” John said, reaching to take Dean’s other side, but dropping his arm when Sam gestured him off. Instead, he preceded the boys as though he was clearing their way. “She wants to see him ASAP.”

“Did she say anything about what’s going on?” Sam asked.

John didn’t get to answer. Just then, Dean groaned and bent over.

“Son of a bitch,” he gasped. 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice wavered and, this time, he didn’t protest as John took Dean’s other side.

Dean couldn’t answer for a few moments. After a heartbeat or two, though, he straightened. “Mikey, that hurt,” he said to his belly in a betrayed voice.

“Dana said that most women don’t actually have their water break until they’re in labor,” John explained as he encouraged his sons to hurry. “But when it happens first, it usually means that labor is going to start soon and be intense.”

“Now you tell me,” Dean said, the sarcasm pale, but present.

“Look at your watch, Sammy,” John instructed his youngest. “We’ll need to track how often the contractions come.”

“I don’t have one on,” Sam stated. He’d been lucky to remember shoes for both Dean and himself. By this time, they were out the front door of the building and heading down the stairs. “Should I go back and get one?”

”We don’t have time for that,” John replied tersely. “We’ll have to use mine.”

Dean didn’t say anything as Sam helped him into the back of the Impala, but even in the midst of the controlled chaos, he raised one eyebrow at his brother when he spotted all of the supplies.

“I didn’t have a vision or anything,” Sam explained sheepishly as he climbed in after his brother. “I just had this vague feeling. Dad and I thought I was just nervous about the baby coming.”

To his surprise, Dean wasn’t angry. “Don’t worry about it, Sammy. This is something I wouldn’t have wanted any warning about anyway.” 

He gasped as another pain hit. 

“Dad?” Sam asked as John looked at his watch.

“Not quite four minutes,” John answered grimly. He shut the back door and moved to the driver’s side. Getting in, he lost no time in starting the car. “Hang on back there, boys. We’re going to fly.”

Sam clutched at Dean, kissing his brother’s temple and murmuring words of encouragement. John didn’t have to tell him to hold on tight; he had no intention of letting Dean go.

With the engine rumbling loudly, the Impala roared off into the night.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted September 3, 2006


	25. Go

“Sammy, when this is all over and the baby is old enough to travel,” Dean ground out from between clenched teeth. “We’re gonna take a nice family road trip to New Mexico, we’re gonna find that fertility idol again, and then I’m gonna turn that bitch into kindling.”

Sam didn’t bother to point out to his brother that the fertility goddess figurine wasn’t made out of wood. If there was a way to turn a stone statue into kindling, Dean would find it. Besides, after watching his brother suffer through a couple of contractions, Sam was inclined to go along with the whole destroying the idol idea.

“Hang on, babe,” he crooned to his brother. “Dad’s getting us there as quick as he can.”

Indeed, the Impala was going so fast that its tires hardly seem to be in contact with the road. As soon as they got out of town and away from what minimal traffic there was at three in the morning, John had dug out his cell phone again. The sound of his father’s voice as he spoke to Dana was soothing to Sam and he only hoped it was the same for his brother.

“It’s not supposed to be this way,” Dean panted. “Dana’s supposed to deliver the baby surgically, so there would be no way for me to screw it up.”

Sam’s arms tightened around him. “You’re not going to screw up.”

“Yeah, right,” Dean retorted. “Look how I’m handling it so far. I’m not only acting like a pussy, I actually have a pussy too.”

“Dean-. . . .”

“Sammy, Dana wants to talk to you,” John’s voice interrupted him. Sam looked up to see his father awkwardly trying to pass the phone back to him. 

“Yeah, Dana,” Sam spoke into the phone after he’d grabbed it from his dad.

“Sam, you need to help Dean stay calm,” Dana told him. “We weren’t expecting this, so I never went over vaginal birth with either of you and Dean hasn’t had a chance to practice any breathing techniques. Just help him keep his body as relaxed as possible during the contractions. At this point, there’s nothing you can do to stop the baby from coming, so don’t even try. Just ease him through it until your father can get you to the hospital.”

“That’s easier said than done,” Sam responded. 

“Do it anyway.” Dana was implacable. “It’s not like you have much of a choice. Let me talk to Dean.”

Sam held the phone up to his brother’s ear. “She wants to talk to you.”

The two brothers were sitting with Dean practically in Sam’s lap. Even so, Sam couldn’t make out what Dana was telling his brother. He could hear her voice, tinny through the cell phone, but not make out the words themselves. He did feel Dean relax a little and his breathing calm and he blessed the woman for her excellent, if remote at the moment, bedside manner.

“Oh, shit,” Dean tensed and Sam dropped the phone in order to hold him.

“Try to relax,” Sam encouraged him, using a gentle, even tone. “Just let the contraction wash through you, breathe nice and slow, and don’t tighten up.”

To his profound relief, Dean appeared to listen to him. His brother took several deep breaths and, while his hand clutched Sam’s tightly, the rest of him was relatively loose.

“That’s it, that’s it,” Sam crooned. “You can do it.”

He waited until Dean gasped and completely relaxed, knowing it for a sign that the contraction had passed. “Dad, time.”

“Just under three minutes,” John informed him. “What does Dana say about that?”

“Damn.” Not letting go of his brother, Sam felt around until he found the phone and then tossed it up to his dad. “You talk to her, we’re busy.”

With that, Sam’s world contracted until it just included the back seat of the Impala and the straining man in his arms. Sam kept up a constant patter of encouragement, telling Dean over and over how much he loved him and how well he was doing. He bit his lip when Dean cried out softly in pain and coached his brother to breathe deeply as a way to get through it.

Every once in a while John would intrude into the bubble of calm Sam had created to ask a question. Sam tried not to resent it too much and to answer as best he could. He knew that their father was their link to Dana and her medical knowledge. Even in his inexperienced eyes, though, Sam could tell that the labor was progressing remarkably fast. The contractions came closer and closer together and were more intense each time. Dean tried to hold in the pain, but his inarticulate grunts and muffled curses became louder.

And then they stopped.

“Dean?” Sam asked. His brother was shaking and sweating in his arms, but no longer tense with pain.

“I don’t know, Sammy,” Dean panted a reply. “They just went away. Do you think the baby’s all right?”

”Do you feel anything at all?” Sam questioned him.

“It kind of burns down there,” Dean told him.

“Dad?” Sam raised his voice a little, hoping his father had been able to hear them over the noise of the road.

“I heard, Sam,” John replied and then spoke into the phone. “Dana? Dana? Shit!”

Sam got a really bad feeling. “What’s the matter?”

”We lost the signal,” John answered curtly. He was driving with one hand and fiddling with the cell phone with the other.

“Well, get it back!” Sam demanded, feeling panic starting to nip at his heels.

“I’m trying, son, I’m trying.”

“How far away are we?” Dean asked. For the moment, he was calmer than his brother.

John looked at the odometer. “At least fifteen minutes, maybe twenty.” He threw the phone down in disgust, obviously not successful in getting a signal. “Fuck!”

“Sam. . . .”

“Hang on, Dean, everything’s fine,” Sam reassured him and then turned his attention back to John. “Throw the phone back here, I’ll keep trying.” John did so and Sam started fumbling with it.

“Sam. . . .”

“It’s all right, Dean,” Sam patted Dean’s arm absently as he tried to push the small buttons on the phone even though his fingers were shaking badly. “We’ll get Dana on the phone and she’ll tell us what’s going on.”

Dean reached back and grabbed Sam by the shirt, yanking his brother forward sharply. “Sammy, something’s happening.”

Sam tossed the phone back to his dad. “What, Dean?”

“I don’t know,” Dean’s voice showed his frustration. “It doesn’t hurt as much, but relaxing ain’t gonna cut it anymore.”

“Son of a bitch,” John muttered, but it sounded more like a prayer than a curse.

The next Sam knew, the Impala was swerving off the road. He scrambled to grab Dean and keep his brother steady. With a spray of gravel, the car lurched to a stop under a lone street lamp.

“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” Sam demanded. To his amazement, John had turned the car off and was getting out.

“Dana went over the stages of labor with me before we got cut off,” John explained as opened up the back door. “There’s no time to get to the hospital. Your son is coming now.”

“And that’s why we need to keep going,” Sam retorted. “Now get the car started and let’s hit the road.”

“Sammy,” John’s voice was oddly gentle, especially given that his youngest had just attempted to give him an order. “Michael’s arriving now, whether you’re ready or not. Can you honestly tell me that you can help your brother and catch the baby when he comes out? At the same time.”

Sam deflated with a barely contained whimper. “No.”

“Hello? Man in labor here,” Dean interrupted, letting go of his death grip on Sam long enough to wave at them. “Will somebody please tell me what the hell to do?”

“How you holding up there, Sport?” John’s voice gentled even more as he addressed Dean.

Sam startled. He hadn’t heard his Dad call Dean that in years and years.

“Been better,” Dean responded, but Sam noticed he relaxed a little. A part of Sam was jealous, that his father could soothe Dean so easily, but mostly he was relieved. “Dad, I can’t have the baby in the car.”

“Sure you can, son,” John assured him as he started getting out the supplies Sam had packed over the last few weeks. Sam noticed that their dad’s voice was uncharacteristically cheerful. “Knowing how much you love this car, I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find out that the baby was conceived in the back seat.” John paused as he sluiced water over his hands using the bottles Sam had added to the stash. “You were.”

“Too much information, Dad,” Dean groaned.

Sam pulled his brother closer. He’d recognized what their father was doing; unflappable John Winchester was attempting to keep Dean calm but was in actuality babbling.

“Okay, let me see what’s going on here,” John stated as he slipped off Dean’s soiled sweatpants. 

For all his earlier squeamishness about letting his dad see his nether regions, Dean didn’t protest. Sam figured all of Dean’s inhibitions had been burned away by pain and uncertainty.

“So?” Sam asked as his father’s dark head dipped in between Dean’s spread legs. “What do you see?”

John straightened. “Damned if I know.” He focused on Dean. “Son, Dana said your body would know when it was time to push. When you feel an urge to bear down, you just go ahead and do it.”

“I think that’s now,” Dean’s voice was strained.

And then the rest of him was straining.

Sam braced Dean’s back as his brother bore down, willing strength into Dean’s exhausted body. The pushes were harder on the other man than the plain contractions had been and, worse, he wasn’t given a lot of time in between them to recover.

“Sammy,” Dean grunted after the fourth push.

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam replied. He brushed Dean’s sweat soaked hair off his forehead.

“If you ever come near me again with that tent pole you keep between your legs, I will cut it off,” Dean ground out, oddly articulate, given the circumstances. “I swear to God. Snip, snip.”

“I hear you,” Sam agreed, with feeling.

Dean groaned as another contraction started, signaling it was time to push again. He cried out as he bore down and Sam felt like crying with him.

“I can see the head,” John called out. “Come on, son, he’s right there.”

“Easy for you to say,” Dean gasped, but obediently pushed again. Sam could feel his brother’s muscles quivering with the effort to free the child from his body. This push went on and on, causing Sam to wonder if it was ever going to stop.

“The head’s out,” their father declared, voice trembling. “You’re almost there, Dean. You can do it. Give me another good one.”

Sam stretched, trying to see over the mound of Dean’s body, but he couldn’t. He settled for running his hands along Dean’s arms, trying to encourage and support his brother as much as possible.

“You’re doing great, Dean,” Sam crooned. “One push, two tops and you’re done.”

Dean’s face scrunched up as he pushed again, crying out low and inarticulately with the effort. “Push, Dean. Come on, push. You can do it.”

“Here he comes, here he comes!” John yelled. “You did it, Dean, he’s all the way out.”

With a gasp, Dean fell back against Sam. “Is he okay? I don’t hear him, why don’t I hear him?”

Sam was wondering the same thing. He still couldn’t see much of what John was doing, just that his hands were busy. “Dad, is the baby okay?”

John Winchester didn’t answer. He didn’t have too. Michael David Winchester did it for him.

The thin wail of a newborn filled the Impala, prompting both Winchester brothers to laugh through tears. Sam squeezed Dean until he was sure his brother would break, but Dean didn’t seem to notice.

“He’s better than okay,” John had tears rolling down his cheeks, but his smile was wide as he placed the infant on Dean’s stomach. “He’s perfect.”

Dean reached out one finger and touched the baby’s cheek. Michael was crying loud and strong, his chin quivering as he proclaimed his distress to the world. 

“Listen to the lungs on that kid, will you?” Dean’s voice was weak, but full of wonder.

“He gets that from you,” Sam told him, wiping his face with the back of his hand. 

He steadied Michael on Dean’s stomach and just basked in the wonder of it all. Michael was small and still bloody from the birth, with a scrunched up face and wrinkled skin. In fact, the newborn looked far less human than many of the things they’d hunted over the years. Sam thought he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“You did it,” Sam congratulated his brother. He kissed Dean on the temple. “You’re amazing.”

“Sammy, you want to cut the cord?” John rooted around and got the first aid kit, breaking the seal and getting out a scalpel. 

It was then that Sam realized that the baby was still attached to Dean. He took the knife from his father and cut the umbilical cord. John passed Sam a towel and, with Dean’s help, he wrapped their son up in it. Sam placed the baby in Dean’s arms and then wrapped himself around his brother, so that the three of them were in a Winchester-sized ball. 

Vaguely, Sam was aware of his father puttering with something, but he was too wrapped up in the moment to pay much attention. As far as Sam was concerned, he could spend the rest of his life in the back seat of that car, marveling in the presence of Dean and their baby boy.

John changed all of that.

“Sammy, look alive.”

Dazed, Sam looked up and his stomach flipped over when he saw the expression on his father’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Dean’s bleeding,” John said curtly. He took a wad of towels and shoved them under Dean.

His brother whimpered and that scared the hell out of Sam.

“Dean?” He asked frantically, noticing how pale and sweaty his brother looked.

“I don’t feel so good, Sammy.”

“Oh, God,” Sam murmured. He saw Dean’s frightened eyes, though, and knew he couldn’t afford to lose it. “Don’t worry; Dad’s going to get you to Dana right away. You’ll be fine.”

Dean swallowed heavily and nodded.

John shoved a few more towels under Dean, elevating his hips in an effort to stem the flow of blood. Then he ran to the front of the car, getting in and starting it up. The Impala all but leapt back onto the road, John gunning the engine as he immediately pushed the car to its limit.

Michael had quit crying and was snuggling into his father’s warmth. Dean smiled wanly at the baby as he continued to stroke his cheek and Sam steadied them both against the movement of the car.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam said, trying to get his brother’s mind off of the danger. “You remember when you taught me to toss a football?”

“Yeah.” Dean’s hand fell limply from Michael’s face. “Tickle.”

The comment didn’t make sense, but then Sam remembered how their dad had joined the lesson, picking Sam up after he’d successfully caught the ball and tickling him instead of a tackle. He smiled at the memory.

“You’re going to teach Michael that some day, I promise,” Sam vowed.

“Dn’know, Sammy.”

“I do.” Sam didn’t allow any doubt to enter his voice. “So stay with me, all right?”

“How’s he doing, Sam?” John called from the front seat.

“Shocky,” Sam answered. “How much farther?”

“Just keep him conscious,” John barked. Sam noticed that he hadn’t answered the question.

“Think of all the things you’ll get to teach Michael,” Sam commented, figuring it would be good to remind Dean of what he had to live for. “How to fish and work on the car. And driving. God, you don’t want me to teach him how to drive do you?”

Dean was getting paler, but still managed a smile. “Grandma.”

“Yeah, you don’t want Mikey to drive like a grandmother,” Sam smiled, even though he could feel the tears starting. “And music. You have to be around or I’ll have him listening him to Sheryl Crow.”

“Sammy. . . .”

“No, Dean, you’re going to be fine.” The iron scent of blood was too easy to smell. “Dad, how much farther!”

“Sammy. . . .” Dean’s smile was as pale as his face. “No. . . regrets.”

“Dean!” Sam watched with horror as Dean’s eyes fluttered shut. The baby was safely wedged between their bodies and the back of the seat, so Sam used his free hand to slap gently at Dean’s face. “Don’t do this, Dean. Don’t leave me.” He looked down at the baby. “Don’t leave us.”

It didn’t do any good. Although Dean’s eyes opened a crack, Sam could tell that they were rolled back into his head. 

“Oh, God,” Sam murmured, burying his face into his brother’s hair for a moment. “Please, Dean, don’t do this. Please.”

Dean remained limp and Michael started to whimper. Sam felt like joining him.

“Dad!” Sam cried out. Despite their differences, John Winchester was still Sam’s father and, in his panicked state, Sam called out to his dad with a child’s plea for his parent to fix things.

“We’re almost there, Sam,” John answered. “Just hang on.”

“You hear that, Dean?” Sam continued to talk to his brother. “You’re going to get help, in just a minute. Don’t you dare quit on us. Your son needs you.” His voice cracked. “I need you.”

“Grab on to something, Sammy,” was all the warning he got. 

The Impala swerved off the road and Sam had his hands full keeping himself, his brother and the baby from spilling off the back seat. When everything steadied, he could see that John had turned off onto an unlit side street. Even as Sam opened his mouth to question his father, John started leaning on the horn. It blared loudly, causing the baby to start to cry again.

They were almost to the building before Sam even saw it. It was just there, in between one moment and the next, showing up in the blare of the headlights, but John wasn’t slowing down. Sam braced everyone again, thinking that his dad was going to ram the Impala right into it, but John managed to stop the car at the last moment.

The horn had alerted Dana and the others of their arrival and Sam could see three people running out of the building. John got out and started shouting an explanation. Sam was a little slower, mostly because he was juggling the baby. He felt someone come up next to him and handed over the bundle that was Michael without even checking who it was. It turned out to be Mulder and Sam took the barest moment to make sure the other man wasn’t going to drop his son. Confident that Mulder could handle the baby for the moment, Sam turned back to the car. 

John had been quicker getting out, but Sam was faster to grab Dean. He reached in and got his hands underneath his brother’s shoulders, sliding Dean out far enough so he could pull him into his arms. Dean was no lightweight, but fear gave Sam strength. When he straightened, Sam was cradling the unconscious man gently, not even grunting with strain.

“Dana, he needs help now,” Sam stated, his voice halfway between an order and a plea.

Even though she only could have received minimal information from John’s shouted explanation, Dana Scully began calling out orders like a field general.

“Walter, help Sam get Dean into the main treatment room. I left an IV out; get it started.” She turned to John. “Move your car around back before you come in, we need to hide our presence here as much as possible.” She walked towards Mulder, speaking to Walter over her shoulder. “I’ll be right there, I just want to check the baby over quickly first.”

“Come on, Sam,” Walter was suddenly at Sam’s elbow. “This way.”

Sam was only vaguely aware of the activity going on behind him. He felt Dean’s head loll against his shoulder and moved even faster. “Hurry.”

Walter Skinner led him into the building and down a corridor. It looked like a hospital, despite the small size of the place. It didn’t take them long to reach the room Dana directed them to. Sam immediately placed Dean on the exam table, lowering his brother gently. It looked obscene, with Dean’s red-splattered thighs splayed open, so Sam carefully arranged him into a more dignified position.

He looked up as Walter approached with a needle.

“I’ve picked up a few tricks, working with Dana,” Walter explained. “Don’t worry, I’m qualified to start an IV. Dana had everything ready.” He kept up a soothing patter of words as he worked. “With first Fox and now Alex too, all of us need to know some medical techniques. Those two attract trouble like you wouldn’t believe.”

His attempts to distract Sam were well intentioned, but pointless. Sam ignored him, moving to stand by Dean’s head and murmur encouragements into his brother’s ear. He’d always heard that sometimes unconscious people were aware of more than it appeared and if there was the barest possibility that was true, Sam wanted to make sure that his brother knew that he wasn’t alone.

Just when Sam was about to demand where Dana was, the lady herself walked into the room.

“Michael’s just fine,” she assured him, moving briskly to Dean’s side. “I’ll give him a more complete exam later, but first we need to see to Dean.” She looked at Sam with sympathy. “You need to leave now.”

“No way,” Sam shook his head. “I need to stay with Dean.”

Walter was suddenly at his elbow again and Mulder was on the other side.. “You need to give Dana room to work, Sam. Her focus has to be totally on Dean right now. You don’t want to distract her, do you?”

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but a voice from behind stopped him.

“Your son needs you.”

He turned to see his father standing in the doorway, Michael cradled in his arms. Sam looked from the bundle of baby back to his brother, who was laying far too still on the exam table.

“I’ll take good care of him, Sam,” Dana promised before giving her attention to her patient.

Walter moved to help her and Mulder took Sam by the elbow and silently led him outside the room. An inner voice protested with every step Sam took, but he knew he couldn’t stay. He couldn’t help Dean, but he could help Michael. 

As soon as he reached his father, John put the baby in his arms. “Come on, let’s get your boy cleaned up.” 

Mulder led them to another room and, in a daze, Sam let his father help him wash the baby. John Winchester’s touch as he worked with Michael was surprisingly gentle and it hit Sam that John had done this before. Not just taking care of an infant, but doing so in the wake of a personal tragedy.

“How did you do it?” Sam asked his father in broken voice. “After Mom died, how did you go on?”

“You’re lookin’ at it,” John answered gruffly, gesturing to the newborn with his chin. “I wanted to lay down and die, but you and Dean needed me. That got me through, day by day.” He looked at Sam sternly. “Your brother’s not going to die. He’s a strong man.”

“I know,” Sam admitted. “It’s just, there was so much blood.”

“Dana’s a good woman and a better doctor,” John assured him. “Dean’s in good hands.”

Michael didn’t appreciate their ministrations, crying and squirming as they tenderly washed the birthing gore off him. Sam felt like an unwieldy giant next to the newborn.

“Why are my hands so frickin’ big?” He exclaimed in disgust as he tried to wipe down his son’s tiny fingers.

“Just calm down, Sam,” John advised him. “Babies are tougher than they seem. Besides, this one’s a Winchester. He wrestles demons for breakfast.”

Between the two of them, they got the baby cleaned off. John showed Sam how to diaper and swaddle the child. Feeling the tight wrappings seemed to calm the infant, who smacked his lips and promptly fell asleep. John sat Sam down in the room’s lone chair and gave him the baby.

“You get to know your son,” John told him quietly. “He’s what Dean suffered through for nine months and, trust me, he’s worth every ache and pain.”

Sam looked into Michael’s scrunched, newborn face and knew his dad was right. Even so, he couldn’t stop thinking about Dean. He wanted to believe his father was right about that too, but he remembered the limp weight in his arms as he carried Dean inside. Torn between the miracle of his son’s birth and the threat of Dean’s death, Sam rocked his son and cried softly. John stood by him, clearly wanting to help, but not knowing how.

Neither man had noticed Mulder leave.

“Um, guys?” Fox hesitantly came into the room. A stranger, a rather sullen-looking man with one arm, hovered behind him. “Dana wanted me to tell you that Dean’s holding his own.”

“What?” Sam started to get up, but John’s heavy hand on his shoulder kept him in his seat. “What’s going in? Did you see him? Is the bleeding under control?”

“Dana had arranged to have some blood here, but with the baby coming early, we hadn’t picked it up,” Mulder explained. He gestured to his companion. “Alex went and got it, that’s why he wasn’t here when you arrived. But Dean’s receiving the blood now and Dana thinks it’ll stabilize him.”

“Can I see him?” Sam asked.

Mulder shook his head. “No. She’s still working on him.”

“Don’t worry,” the newcomer added. “Dana’s the best.”

“You,” John’s voice rumbled as he pointed at the man who must be Alex Krycek. “Stay away from my boys. All three of them.”

“Wait a minute,” Mulder was frowning. “Alex helped. . . .”

“It’s okay,” Alex touched Fox on the arm. “He’s hardly the first guy who doesn’t want me around. I’ll just go clean up the blood.” He smiled sadly. “I’m good at that.”

Mulder left with him, leaving the Winchesters alone again. The report made Sam feel marginally better, but he was still in something of a fugue state. The snuffly noise of Michael’s breathing kept him grounded, as did his father’s presence at his side. At one point, John offered to find something to lay the baby in, but Sam refused. It felt like holding Michael was the only thing keeping him sane.

Even years later, Sam wouldn’t know if hours passed by or if it only felt that way. Eventually, though, Dana came into the room. Even though she was wearing scrubs instead of the clothing she’d been wearing when they arrived, the bright smile on her face told Sam that everything was all right.

“He’s stabilized,” Dana informed them. “And I’m confident he’s going to be all right.”

Sam sagged, bending over the baby and not caring that his tears were getting Michael’s face wet. John’s hand came down and gripped his shoulder tightly. From the way it trembled, he knew his father had been far more worried than he’d let on.

Dana squatted in front of Sam so that she could look him in the face. “It wasn’t quite as bad as it seemed. You remember me telling you both that Dean’s uterus wasn’t a true part of his internal system, the way a woman’s is?” She waited until Sam nodded before continuing. “His body expelled it and that’s what caused the excessive bleeding.”

“Expelled it?” John asked. “That’ll make Dean happy.”

She smiled faintly. “I should say so.” She looked at Sam and reached for the baby. “I’d like to give Michael an exam now. I looked at him earlier and he seemed just fine, but Dean’s doing well enough that I’d like to make a more thorough assessment.”

“Can I see Dean?” Sam asked, his arms feeling oddly empty without Michael’s warmth.

“He’s waiting for you,” Dana told him, nose crinkling as she smiled.

Sam got up like a shot, but then hesitated. 

“I’ll stay with Michael,” John told him. His eyes were oddly bright as he smiled encouragement to his son. “You go see your brother.”

That was all Sam needed. He remembered where the treatment room was and his long legs took him there quickly. Opening the door quietly, he peeked in. Walter was sitting at Dean’s side, but looked up as the door opened. Smiling, he got up and came out.

“He’s all yours,” Walter told him, squeezing Sam’s arm. 

Sam walked in and took the seat Walter had vacated. He only sat there a moment, though, too restless to stay still. He stood next to the bed and looked down at his brother’s pale face. Despite the blood trickling into him from an IV, Dean was as pale as the sheets of the bed. Smiling through another spate of tears, Sam kissed each closed eyelid and then, exceptionally gentle, on the mouth.

Dean stirred. His eyes blinked open and focused on Sam. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Sam’s face felt like it would break from the size of his smile. His expression must have shown some of his turmoil, though, because Dean frowned.

“Sammy, I’m all right.”

His voice was weak, undermining Dean’s claim, but Sam pretended not to notice. He knew it was too important to Dean to be able to reassure his little brother.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Sam chastised the other man as he perched on the side of Dean’s bed. “Don’t ever do that again.”

Dean squirmed and then flinched when the movement caused discomfort. “How’s Mikey? Dana said she was gonna look him over.”

“He’s perfect,” Sam told his brother. “In fact, he’s beautiful, just like you.”

The compliment prompted an eye roll from his brother. “We need to get your hormone levels checked, Sammy.” Dean suddenly became fascinated with the binding on his blanket and stared at it instead of looking Sam. “So. . . being born like that didn’t hurt him?”

Sam chuckled softly. “Dean, babies have been born ‘like that’ since the beginning of time. Michael’s fine.”

A huge sigh rocked Dean’s body and he winced again.

“Hey, why don’t you get some rest?” Sam suggested. “Dana said she’d bring Michael in as soon as she’s given him an exam.”

Dean nodded and closed his eyes, but Sam noticed that his brother kept his hand close to where Sam’s lay on top of the blanket. Sam took the hint, gently covering Dean’s with his own. He grinned when he felt his brother’s turn and Dean’s fingers grip his own. As much crap as Dean gave Sam about emotional talk, he was as big a pile of mush as Sam was.

Sam could have sat there, watching his brother sleep, all night, but a short time later, he heard someone come to the door. It opened and John walked in, Michael cradled in his arms. Dean immediately woke, but then he hadn’t been sleeping deeply. Behind John came the rest of the procession, a smiling Dana and her husbands. Mulder and Alex stayed close by the door, so that the small room didn’t seem too overcrowded.

“Glad to see you looking better, son,” John greeted Dean. He approached the bed and gently placed the baby in Dean’s arms. “Got somebody here I thought you’d like to meet.”

Sam watched his brother’s face as Dean held their son. His brother didn’t normally wear his emotions on his sleeve, but this was an exception. Dean bent and kissed the newborn on the top of the head. When he raised up, Sam could see a single tear trailing down Dean’s cheek. 

Sam reached over and wiped that tear away before gently kissing his brother. “Like I said,” Sam whispered to Dean. “He’s beautiful.”

He sensed John shifting uncomfortably on his feet and turned to glare defiantly at his father. After all they’d been through, he wasn’t going to allow himself to be made to feel ashamed for showing his love for Dean. Not by his father, not by anyone.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” John said quietly. “I think I understand now.” He turned to Dean. “You did good, son. You did real good.”

John bent to kiss Dean on the forehead and then backed away. 

“He felt a lot bigger when he was coming out,” Dean stated. He’d touched one of Michael’s hands and the baby wrapped his tiny fingers around one of Dean’s, prompting the most gentle smile Sam had ever seen on his brother’s face.

Dana moved forward.

“I’m very pleased with Michael’s condition,” she told them. “He’s got a perfect ten for an Apgar score and I’ve cleaned up the umbilical cord site. I also drew blood for the routine blood tests and he’s received both his vitamin K and hepatitis shots.”

“Wow,” Sam said, surprised at how much the exam had involved.

“It’s all perfectly normal,” Dana reassured him. “And Michael came through with flying colors and I have every expectation that his blood work will be normal as well.” She held up a bottle. “Now, who wants to be the first one to feed him?” Her smile grew sly. “Unless Dean wants to try breastfeeding?”

Dean’s head shot up. “Oh, hell, no.” He looked at Dana in panic. “That’s not even possible, is it?”

She laughed softly. “No, nothing I’ve seen in your physiology would indicate that you’re capable of it, but then again, I hadn’t expected you to have a natural childbirth either.” She patted Dean on the arm. “So I gave you some bromocriptine, just in case. If your milk were going to come in, it won’t now.”

“Thank God,” Dean breathed a sigh of relief.

“You want to try feeding him?” Dana held up the bottle again.

“Maybe Sam should,” Dean hesitated. “I’m not too steady just yet.”

“No way,” Sam disagreed. “You get the first honor. I’ll help you.”

Sam toed his shoes off and climbed onto the bed, carefully situating himself behind Dean. John saw what he was doing and grabbed another pillow, propping it under where Dean was holding the baby. With Sam holding and supporting Dean and Dean holding Michael, their son got his first bottle. They all held their breath as Dean slid the nipple into the newborn’s mouth, but Michael was a quick learner and was soon sucking away happily.

“Look at the little bastard go,” Dean said in amazement.

Dana gently shooed the others out of the room, giving the new parents some privacy. Before he left, John ran a fingertip over his grandson’s head and smiled at his children.

“Thanks, Dad,” Sam said quietly.

John shrugged. “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world. I was there when you boys were born, but it wasn’t the same. Wasn’t the same at all.”

Then even their father left, leaving the two men alone. Word weren’t necessary and, besides, Sam’s heart felt too full to bother with something mundane like talking. His brother was warm and alive in his arms and his son was enjoying his first meal.

Their dad had been right, after all. Despite the pain and suffering, the outcome had been worth it. Every little bit.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted September 24, 2006
> 
> I had someone ask me if the story will continue after Michael's birth. The answer is definitely yes. In fact, since there are currently 110 chapters, it's safe to say it's barely begun. :)


	26. Male Bonding

Everyone was careful not to say the V-word around Dean. Even the euphemism “birth passage” usually prompted a glare, even after it was gone. Thankfully, the body opening disappeared just as mysteriously as it had arrived, something for which Sam was profoundly grateful. It wouldn’t have mattered a whit for how he loved Dean had the change been permanent, but his brother had been seriously freaked about it.

In fact, all of Dean’s body was rapidly returning to its normal shape and function. Not only were the female parts gone, but the added weight he’d packed on during the pregnancy practically melted away. Dana hypothesized that his body was burning up the extra tissue as a way to fuel the magical-seeming changes and no one else had come up with a theory that disputed her. He still had a lot of work ahead of him to regain his muscles and stamina, but at least he looked essentially like Dean again.

With one notable exception.

Despite the blood transfusion, Dean was still incredibly pale and weak. Giving birth was a trauma to a woman’s body, even if it was a natural one. For a man, it seemed to be a lot worse. Not only was Dean recuperating from the birth itself, but his recovery was complicated by the blood loss and other physical adjustments. Sam was fretting, but Dana wasn’t too worried. She was treating Dean for blood loss and anemia and he was responding, albeit a little slowly for Sam’s comfort level. 

Unfortunately, they could stay at the abandoned hospital for only a couple of days. Walter did his best to shield their use of the building, but he couldn’t guarantee their continued isolation. It was decided that even though Dean was still weak, that it was time to leave.

“Thanks for everything,” Sam stated as he wheeled his brother out the door. Dean had protested the use of the wheelchair, but it seemed more like habit than anything else.

“Yeah, we would have been up shit creek without a paddle if it weren’t for you,” Dean added. Michael’s baby carrier was sitting on his lap and the newborn was sleeping.

“You’re welcome, but I’ll remind you that I didn’t actually deliver the baby,” Dana responded. “I just cleaned up the mess. Your father did the hard part.” 

“Hey, I’m trying to forget that,” Dean shifted uncomfortably on the chair. “A guy’s dad shouldn’t be looking up his skirts that way.”

The trio made their slow way down the corridor and outside, where John had the Impala waiting. Dana’s husbands were standing near the car and all four men turned their way as the group approached.

“Lookin’ good,” Mulder called out as they drew near.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Foxy,” Dean retorted. “I know you’re lookin’ for husband number four, but I’m already taken.”

“Yeah,” Sam muttered under his breath.

“Curses,” Mulder said with a big grin. “Foiled again.”

John stepped forward and took Michael’s carrier from Dean. “You ready to hit the road?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean said with feeling. “I bet I sleep better in the Impala than I did in that damn bed.”

“Wait just a minute,” Dana asked as Sam moved to help Dean up from the chair. They stopped and looked at her, as did John. “We have something we want to tell you.”

“We’ve been considering it for a long time,” Walter Skinner stated, oddly nervous. “But you inspired us to make the leap.”

The Winchesters looked at each other and shrugged.

“Spit it out, Skinner,” John growled. 

“We’re pregnant,” Mulder announced. “Well, Dana is anyway.”

“Wow,” Sam exclaimed. He was still standing next to Dana and hugged her. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” she replied, eyes shining as one hand brushed her stomach. “I’m due in about seven months.”

Dean heaved himself up out of the wheelchair, swaying a bit as he made it to his feet. He growled at Sam as his brother moved to help him and managed to steady himself. Sam backed off and Dean hugged Dana as well.

“You’ll be a great mother.” Dean told her and then smirked. “Just make sure you take your damn iron pill.”

Dana grinned good-naturedly. “Don’t worry, I will. I’ll have three mother hens watching my every move.” She wrinkled her nose. “Besides, the iron pills can’t be as bad as you say.”

Dean had complained long and bitterly when he found out that the blood loss would necessitate him taking the hated pills for a little while longer. After hearing Dana’s proclamation, he laughed evilly.

“You’ll find out,” he warned her. “Payback’s a bitch.”

With goodbyes and well wishes on both sides, the Winchesters piled into the Impala and were on their way to their new home. Dean sat in the back with Michael and soon joined the baby in a nap. There was no discussion about who would drive; the Impala had been John’s long before he’d given it to Dean and he automatically slid behind the wheel. Sam didn’t mind. He was distracted by memories of that frantic ride to the hospital and kept swiveling in his seat to look back at Dean and the baby, reassured by their peaceful slumber.

“Relax, Sammy.” Sam looked at his dad and John pulled his attention from the road long enough to grin at him. “You’re a father now. You’re going to spend the majority of your life with your sphincter puckered with worry over your boy. You have to learn to savor the worry-free moments when you can.”

“It doesn’t get better when he gets older?” Sam gulped. 

“Hell, no.” John chuckled. “If Michael’s anything like the two of you, it’ll get worse.”

“Great,” Sam muttered, sinking down in his seat.

The ride to the new rental house was blissfully uneventful and both Dean and the baby were still sleeping when John pulled the car into the garage. Sam got out and immediately went to the back and got Michael out of his seat. The baby didn’t so much as twitch, but when Sam went around the car to help Dean, he found his brother awake.

“Welcome home,” he called out softly.

“Already?” Dean seemed surprised. “The ride was a lot longer on the way to the hospital.” He smiled ruefully. “Or maybe it just seemed that way.”

Sam held Michael in one arm and offered a hand to his brother. Dean winced as he was leveraged out of the car. He refused to admit it, but Sam knew his brother suffered from aches and pains left over from the birth. Now that they were home, Sam was hoping to address those.

As soon as Dean was out of the car, Sam handed him the baby. 

“Wait a minute, Sammy,” Dean protested. “I’m not so steady on my feet. Shouldn’t he be in his carrier or something? Maybe you should take him.”

Sam shook his head and put a hand under one of Dean’s elbows to support him. “No way. The only way our son is entering his home for the first time is in your arms.”

“Fat lot of good that does if I drop him on his head,” Dean protested.

“Didn’t seem to affect you any,” John teased. While Sam had been helping Dean and Michael get out of the car, John had been unlocking the door.

“Very funny,” Dean glared at him.

John ignored him and took Dean’s other elbow. It took some maneuvering, but they got Dean and the baby in the door. Dean’s complaining died down as he realized that Sam and John had no intention of letting him drop the baby. Once they were in the door, the other two gave Dean a moment to look around.

“Nice,” Dean commented.

John had arranged to have their stuff moved while Dean was at the hospital. The chore had fallen to him; Sam refused to leave Dean’s side. Most of the boxes still needed to be unpacked, but there was enough of their stuff to make the place seem vaguely like home already.

Sam felt his brother start to sag and knew they’d pushed things as far as Dean’s fragile state of health would allow.

“Our bedroom’s this way,” he directed, tugging Dean down the hall.

John left them when they reached the room and Sam was glad of the privacy. He walked Dean and Michael over to the bed and, even though there was a perfectly good bassinet standing nearby, Dean laid Michael down in the center of the mattress. With a pained groan, he lay down beside him. Sam lost no time in going around to the other side of the bed and joining them.

“Can you believe this?” Dean stated in wonder, eyes meeting Sam’s over the prone form of their child. “We’re somebody’s dad.”

“Scary, isn’t it?” Sam responded.

“Yeah. Can you see me in a PTA meeting?”

“Are you kidding?” Sam laughed. “You’ll have those soccer moms eating out of your hand.”

Dean frowned. “As long as Mikey doesn’t call me Mommy.”

Sam shrugged. “We’ll figure something out. It’ll be confusing if he calls both of us ‘Dad.’”

“I’ll take the cool name,” Dean smirked. “Like ‘Pop’ or something.”

“I do know one thing I do not want him to call me,” Sam said, suddenly serious.

“Let me guess,” Dean said. “’Sir’?”

“I understand better now what Dad went through,” Sam commented. “But I want to be Michael’s father, not his commanding officer.”

Dean just nodded, but that was enough. Sam knew his brother’s loyalty to their father went down to the bone and so he wouldn’t actually articulate something even close to criticism of the man. Simply agreeing with Sam on this was huge.

Sam watched fondly as Michael moved in his sleep, before sighing and settling down. When he looked up, it was to find Dean yawning.

“Michael’s got the right idea,” Sam suggested. “A nap sounds really good.”

His brother looked at him suspiciously. “You going to sleep too?”

“Yeah, I’m wiped out,” Sam claimed. In actuality, he was planning on just laying there and watching both Dean and Michael sleep.

“I guess I could rest my eyes,” Dean admitted. Then he looked at Sam slyly “Dad always taught us not to waste any opportunity to grab food or sleep. That’s going to come in handy right about now.”

“Yeah, well, if he decides to give up hunting, he can always start a boot camp for expectant parents,” Sam joked. “I’m not going to hold my breath, though.”

Dean was still smiling when he nodded off. Despite his best intentions, Sam fell asleep too. Dean wasn’t the only Winchester new to parenthood, after all. The past several days had been an emotional rollercoaster for the younger man and he was exhausted.

It was the baby that woke them, as newborns had a tendency to do. Michael woke up, hungry. He whimpered first and, trained by John to be light sleepers, both of his fathers’ eyes popped open at the tiny sound.

“I’ll change him,” Dean offered, sitting up. “Where’d you put the diapers?”

His brother still looked tired, but Sam didn’t protest. Most of Michael’s care had been handled by others so far, because of Dean’s weakness. Sam knew that had been eating away at the other man and so was determined to let Dean do as much as possible.

“I’ll grab the stuff,” Sam told him, sliding off the bed and moving to the dresser were the supplies were. “You go ahead and get started.”

“Okay, just hurry,” Dean replied. He started undoing Michael’s swaddling blanket and gave a cry of dismay. “Sam!”

Heart in his throat, Sam turned. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Our son is only a few days old and you have him in a dress?” Dean demanded, pointing to Michael’s gown. “What sort of crap is that?”

Sam took a minute to respond, torn between going weak with relief and wanting to strangle his brother for scaring him. “It’s a gown, Dean. They’re made for newborns, because their legs are so short.”

“It’s a glorified fart bag, Sam. Get me something with legs to change him into,” Dean instructed. In a softer voice, he addressed the baby. “They did you wrong, son, but don’t worry, Daddy Dean will fix it. Just remember, I’m the cool dad. Daddy Sammy’s the geeky dad.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but did as he was asked. He found a small sleeper that Dean could dress the baby in and tossed it on the bed.

“Here you are,” he stated. “I’m assuming that it’s an acceptable shade of blue? It’s not too pastel or something, is it?”

Dean had finished stripping the hated gown from the baby and was efficiently changing Michael’s diaper. As usual, Michael wasn’t too happy with the goings-on, but Dean just tenderly talked him through it and soon had the baby clean and in a new outfit.

“He’s a Winchester all right,” Dean said smugly as he held the newborn to his chest. “His shit doesn’t stink.”

“Do I hear somebody in here asking for a drink?” John’s gruff voice came from the doorway. He had a bottle in his hand and he walked over to the bed with it. 

Dean leaned back against the headboard and started feeding the baby. Sam forgot his pique about the gown; there was just something about watching Dean take care of the baby that soothed him. John also watched, although he wasn’t as open with his tenderness as Sam was.

Michael was about halfway through the bottle with Dean stopped to burp him. As he watched his brother efficiently put the baby over his shoulder, something occurred to Sam.

“How’d you get so good at that?” His question was almost an accusation. “And don’t tell me that you remember how from when I was a baby. You were four years old and I wouldn’t believe you.”

Dean, who usually wasn’t at all shy about any of his skills, seemed reluctant to answer.

John chuckled. “It’s from the summer you stayed with Joshua, isn’t it?”

It didn’t take Sam long to place the name. Joshua was one of his father’s many contacts, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what he would have to do with Dean knowing how to take care of a baby.

“What does Joshua have to do with it?” Sam asked. “And why were you staying with him anyway?”

“That’s my boy,” Dean praised the baby when Michael let loose a large burp. He swung the infant back into the feeding position and gave him the bottle again. “I wasn’t just staying with Joshua, there was his wife and their little girl. It was the summer I broke my leg.”

“You broke your leg?” Sam felt like he was two or three steps behind. “When did that happen?”

Dean didn’t answer and, after a moment, John did. “You were in California, Sam.”

There was an awkward silence.

“Anyway,” Dean cleared his throat. “Annie was a little older than Michael here, but she was still pretty little.”

Sam shrugged off his guilt enough to grin. “You did daycare?”

Dean glared at him. “No. Once I got my walking cast, I tended bar at this place in the neighborhood.” He glanced down at Michael and his expression softened. “I did help out with the baby once in a while, though.”

Now that they were together and it was clear that Sam wasn’t going anywhere, Dean didn’t seem to resent the four years that Sam had been away at college. Sam was trying to do the same, knowing that the time had been important to his development as a person. It was hard not to, though, especially hearing of a part of Dean’s life that Sam had never heard about, let alone been a part of.

“Hey, Dad,” Sam said when Michael was through with his bottle. “How would you like to baby sit for a little while?”

“Come on, kiddo,” John grinned as he reached for the baby. “Grandpa will tell you stories about when your daddies were your age.”

Dean watched in amazement as John left the room, a little bounce in his step as he soothed the baby. “Are we sure he isn’t possessed by something?”

Sam chuckled. “Haven’t you heard? The tougher a man was as a dad, the mushier he is as a grandfather.” He held his hands out to Dean. “Come on, let’s not waste the opportunity. I have a surprise for you.”

Dean let himself be pulled to his feet and tried to cover up the wince the movement caused. “Sammy, I’m still wiped out. I don’t know that I’m up for much yet. . . .”

It took a minute for Sam to figure out what Dean was trying to say.

“You think I want to-. . . .” Sam sputtered. “You idiot; I’m not trying to seduce you.”

Dean blinked. “You’re not?”

This time Sam realized his mistake right away. He grabbed fist full of Dean’s shirt and jerked his brother forward and, before Dean got his feet properly under him, kissed him. The kiss was all heat and teeth, without a smidgeon of the tenderness that had characterized their displays of affection lately. Only when Sam felt his brother begin to shake did he let him go. He watched with satisfaction as Dean rocked back on his heels, his tongue snaking out to lick his lips, no doubt tasting Sam there.

“That’s just to show you that I want to seduce you,” Sam explained, “but only when you’re felling well enough to do something about it.”

“Right.” Dean tried to sound matter of fact, but the dazed look in his eyes ruined the affect. “So what did you have in mind?”

Smug, Sam grinned and led Dean into the attached bathroom. “Take a look at that.”

‘That’ was a large Jacuzzi tub, a detail that Sam had purposefully chosen not to tell Dean about when describing the new rental house. How many times in their hunting days would the brothers have killed for something like this? Sam had been saving it for a surprise and was now glad he’d done so. Given the grimaces and winces, Dean was still very sore from the birth and a good, long soak would probably do wonders for him.

“Dana did tell you to soak in hot water to ease muscle cramps,” Sam reminded him primly. 

“Man, you don’t have to tell me twice,” Dean said eagerly, then seemed to change his mind. “On one condition, that is.”

“What?” Sam asked, perplexed. He figured that this was one attempt to pamper that Dean would be unable to resist.

“You have to soak with me,” Dean cajoled. “Come on, Sam. That thing’s big enough for a whole football team.”

So soon after almost losing him due to the birth of their child, there wasn’t much that Sam was willing to deny Dean. Besides, an opportunity to take a bath with Dean Winchester was something that only a stupid person would pass up and no one had ever accused Sam of being dumb. 

He nodded. “That’s the plan, Dean.”

They helped each other undress as the water ran. Dean had to rest on the closed toilet lid before they were done, but Sam was careful not to comment on it. In short order, they were in the gloriously warm water, Sam acting as a pillow for Dean. For several minutes, they just lay there and soaked in the warmth of the water and each other.

“You did a good job with the Impala’s upholstery,” Dean finally commented, voice sleepy and full of contentment. “I couldn’t see anything on it.”

Sam laughed softly. Dean had almost died in the back of that car, but trust him to be more concerned about the state of the leather seats. “That was Alex’s doing. He cleaned up the mess while the rest of us were busy. I think the blankets got most of it and he burned those.”

“Krycek seems like a decent enough guy,” Dean commented, his hand swirling a lazy pattern in the water. “I wish I knew why Dad hates him so much.”

“How badly do you want to know?” Sam asked smugly.

Dean turned in his arms to look at him. “You found out? Spill.”

“So this is a valuable piece of information?” Sam grinned. “I’ll trade you five clean plates and three complaint-free iron pills for it.”

His brother’s eyes narrowed. “Three clean plates, no complaint-free iron pills and two naps.”

“Deal,” Sam said instantly, grin widening at Dean’s grumbling about holding out for more. 

“All right, gossip boy,” Dean demanded. “What’s the deal with Dad and Krycek?”

“Well, you know how Alex wasn’t in a relationship with Dana, Walter and Fox when you guys first met them?” Sam was enjoying this. “I guess he has a thing for older guys with an aura of authority about them.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “He didn’t.”

“Yeah, he did,” Sam’s face hurt, he was grinning so widely. “Alex Krycek made a pass at Dad.”

“Oh, man, no wonder Dad doesn’t like him,” Dean chuckled as he settled back against his brother. “It’s only amazing that he didn’t kill him.”

“UmmmHmmm. . .” Sam murmured. He started running his hands up and down Dean’s arms. Dean’s sigh was almost inaudible, but he relaxed into Sam’s embrace, letting the water and his brother’s touch soothe him.

A funny thing happened, the longer they lay there. The bath had been intended to be totally for Dean, but Sam found himself enjoying it every bit as much. Something deep inside him had been wound tight ever since that night in the kitchen, when he’d gotten a good look at the fear in Dean’s face as his water broke. Ever since, it seemed like Sam had been on the highest of highs or lowest of lows. First, fearing for his brother’s life and then in awe over the birth of their son. He’d been so caught up in taking care of Dean and taking care of Michael, that Sam hadn’t had a chance to take care of himself. Only now, with his lover in his arms and his son in the best of hands, did Sam allow himself to relax and allow the warmth of the water soak his stress away.

“Sammy, you okay?” 

Sam looked down to see that Dean had turned in his arms and was peering up at him in concern. There was nothing forced in Sam’s smile as he spoke to reassure his brother.

“Yeah, Dean. In fact, I’m perfect.”

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on September 5, 2006


	27. Wiggle

“Michael, give your dad a break,” Sam begged. He was balancing a wailing newborn in one arm and a bottle of formula in the other. “I know I’m not as good at this as Dean is.”

Dean was still recovering from the birth and Sam wanted his brother to sleep. With John out on a grocery run, Sam was left to tend the baby. Unfortunately, his enthusiasm for doing so outstripped his ability and both of them were suffering.

Sam knew Michael’s diaper was clean, he’d taken care of that before beginning to feed him. Over half the bottle was gone, so he figured the baby wasn’t hungry and he’d gotten a big bubble out of his son when he’d burped him. At the end of his rope, Sam put the bottle down and stood, swaying gently from side to side as he’d seen his brother do.

The crying didn’t stop.

“Come on, Michael,” Sam begged, “don’t make me do it.”

At the sound of his father’s voice, the howling tapered off and Michael looked in Sam’s direction with wide, tear-filled eyes. Sam smiled in triumph, but it was short-lived. The baby’s chin started trembling and the wailing began again, louder than before.

“All right, all right,” Sam gave in. Sighing in resignation, he started to sing. “I’m gonna rock and roll all night and party every day. . . .”

The crying got louder.

That just wasn’t fair. The song was Michael’s favorite and worked like a charm whenever Dean sang it to him. Reminding himself not to panic, Sam tried it again.

“I’m gonna rock and roll all night and party every day. . . .” When it didn’t stop the wailing, Sam pleaded with his son again. “Please, Michael.”

“You need to put a little wiggle in your hips.”

Sam turned. Dean was leaning against the doorframe watching them and for once it looked like he was doing it just to look cool, not because he needed the support. He still looked pale, but not dangerously so and, despite the crying baby, Sam smiled. Finally, Dean was getting over the blood loss.

Nodding at his brother, Sam sang the refrain once again, this time adding a little gyration to his hips as he rocked the baby. He needn’t have bothered; it didn’t even put a dent in the crying.

Chuckling, Dean pushed off from the door and walked towards them. Sam willingly gave up the baby to his brother’s more experienced care.

“Hey, Mikey, what’s all the fuss about?” Dean didn’t speak in a baby talk, but his voice was tender as he addressed his son. He cuddled the boy in one arm and used a finger to stroke the infant’s cheek. With one last shaky cry, Michael yawned widely and closed his eyes.

“How’d you do that?” Sam asked, following as Dean moved towards the other room, obviously planning to put the baby back in his bassinet.

Dean shrugged. “I think he just recognizes my voice more. Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it.”

“And the wiggle in my hips, that didn’t work either,” Sam complained.

“Didn’t think it would,” Dean shrugged again.

Sam frowned. “Then why did you suggest it, if you knew it wouldn’t help calm him down?”

Dean grinned and waggled his eyebrows. 

“Didn’t say it was for the baby’s benefit.”

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted September 6, 2006


	28. The Winchester Family

The Winchester’s first family road trip was not to New Mexico to destroy the fertility idol. It was to Blue Earth, Minnesota. From their starting point in Virginia, it was a long drive, but it couldn’t be helped. Blue Earth was where Pastor Jim lived and there was no one else that Dean and Sam would trust to baptize their child.

If nothing else, their hunting had taught Dean and Sam that there was a higher power and that religious rituals could have a profound impact. So, while they weren’t overtly religious, they were definitely believers. Having Michael baptized was an absolute must. They waited until the baby was eight weeks old and then packed up the Impala and headed north.

Technically, the drive was supposed to take close to twenty hours. With Dean behind the wheel, that got shaved down closer to fifteen, but it was still too far to make in a straight shot when a baby was along. Thankfully, Michael took to the road like a champion, not surprising given that his last name was Winchester. Not only did he not do much more than eat, sleep and poop, but he also shared Dean’s taste in music, even if he needed it at a much lower volume. Sam was not amused at being outnumbered, but figured he might as well get used to it.

“So, you suppose Dad made it?” Sam asked as they neared Pastor Jim’s church. 

It was a familiar destination; Jim’s having been their dad’s preferred place to take the boys if he was going to be gone on a hunt for more than a few days.

Dean chuckled. “Are you kidding? He’ll probably be waiting at the door, looking at his watch and bitching under his breath about us being late.”

The mighty hunter, John Winchester himself, had met his match. His conqueror weighed less than eleven pounds and filled his pants regularly. John had taken up hunting again, but only in the last month and, to date, only for short jaunts. He was to meet them at Jim’s.

“There’s Dad’s truck,” Dean commented as they pulled in the church’s parking lot. “Huh. Lots of other cars too.”

Pastor Jim had asked them to come on a Saturday late in the afternoon, so they could have a very private ceremony.

“There’s a rental,” Sam pointed out. “Dana and the others found the place okay.”

They’d almost skipped the godparent part of the ritual, but in the end had asked Dana Scully and Walter Skinner. For a while, they’d considered having three godfathers for Michael, but figured John would have had a fit over Alex having that type of attachment to his grandson. As for Mulder, well, even the Winchesters had qualms over the things that man could teach their son.

“And there’s Dad,” Dean nodded up at the entrance to the building.

Sam looked up and saw their father coming out of the church. He’d either been watching for them or had recognized the sound of the Impala. After exchanging a grin with his brother, Sam got out of the car and stretched. Dean did the same and Sam stole a few covert glances at him as he did.

“I bet it takes him less than 30 seconds to get his hands on the baby,” Sam murmured.

Dean snorted. “Half that.”

“Hello, boys,” John drawled as he approached. “How’d the drive go?”

“Piece of cake,” Dean responded confidently.

John peered into the back seat of the Impala. The classic car wore its Winnie-the-Pooh mesh window shade as though it were a medal of honor. “And Michael?”

Sam grinned. “Slept like a baby.”

John gave him a blank look, not appreciating the joke. “I’ll just take Michael inside. You boys must be tired.”

As their father opened the back door and reached in, Dean’s grin got wider. He looked at his watch and then mouthed ‘ten seconds.’ Sam laughed softly, but wiped the expression off his face as his dad stood, this time holding the baby carrier.

“Come on, Jim’s waiting inside,” John started to lead them into the church.

Sam darted into the car and grabbed the military surplus duffle that served them as a diaper bag. Dean came around the other side of the car and, shoulder to shoulder, they followed their dad. John turned to monitor their progress and frowned. 

“You feeling okay?” He asked Dean.

“Yes, sir,” his oldest son answered with no hesitation.

“You’re limping,” John pointed out.

Sam faked a cough to cover his laughter. Dana had restricted Dean from any strenuous activity for six weeks after the baby’s birth and those constraints had included vigorous sexual activity. While that prohibition had technically lapsed two weeks earlier, Dean just hadn’t felt up to fooling around much and Sam hadn’t wanted to push his brother.

That had changed, drastically, the night before.

Whether being on the road had invigorated Dean or whether his body had finally healed, Sam didn’t know or care. All he knew was that Dean had pounced him the minute Michael had been placed in his portable crib for the night.

“I’m just a little stiff is all,” Dean lied to his dad with a sheepish smile. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in a car for that long.”

Satisfied with Dean’s answer, John nodded. “Well, take it at your own pace, then.”

Sam waited until their father was several steps ahead of them before hip checking his brother playfully. 

“Stiff from the ride, my ass,” he teased in a low voice. He slipped one hand down and pinched Dean’s butt. “Actually, your ass was my ass last night, wasn’t it?”

Dean shot him a sideways glance. “Feeling a little cocky, are we?”

“Don’t I have a right to be?” Sam grinned. “I believe the phrase you used was ‘tent pole.’”

“I was delirious with the pain at the time, trying to give birth to your child” Dean protested in a hoarse whisper. “And if memory serves me right, I told you not to bring it near me again.”

Sam used his greater height to tower over Dean and whisper in his ear. “That’s not what you said last night.”

“Boys. . . .” John’s voice was a mildly irritated rumble.

Grinning guiltily, the two hurried to catch up to their dad and son. Sam’s first impression when they entered the church was that there were more people there than they should be. He assumed it was because his eyes hadn’t made the adjustment from the bright afternoon soon. As they did, though, he realized he’d been right. There were more people there than there should be.

Pastor Jim stood in the narthex, beaming at them with his characteristic kind smile. To one side stood Dana and her husbands. Dean had seen Dana regularly for medical check-ups, the last one being just a few days earlier, but it was still good to have them there. The whole family was well aware that without her skills as a doctor, Michael wouldn’t have been born nearly as healthy as he was and that Dean may not have survived at all.

“We’re so glad you could be here,” Sam greeted them warmly. “Thanks for flying in.”

“We wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” Dana replied graciously.

“We’re very honored,” Walter added.

Mulder grinned. “Alex even wore a suit.”

“I noticed,” Dean replied dryly. Neither he nor Sam were that dressed up. “Looking good, Krycek.”

Sam had also noticed that Alex was still giving John a wide berth, but didn’t say anything about it.

“How are you feeling?” Dean asked Dana and then smirked. “Those iron pills treating you okay?”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “You know darn well that they’re as beastly as you warned me they would be.”

“Try licorice,” Dean advised her. “That always got things moving for me.”

The mini-reunion and pregnancy chat was broken up by someone calling out from the other side of the narthex.

“John Winchester, you quit hogging that baby.”

Sam and Dean turned around at the familiar voice. Their father’s friend, Missouri, was standing there along with a small group of other familiar faces. The psychic had her hands on her hips and a mock scowl on her face. She was flanked by other friends; Bobby, Caleb, and Joshua. The latter was accompanied by his wife and daughter, Annie.

“Dad?” Dean asked, a hint of disapproval in his voice.

John lifted Michael out of his carrier. “I thought it was about time that my grandson met his extended family.”

“Oh, honey, don’t be too mad at him,” Missouri told Dean as she walked up to John and brazenly took the infant out of his arms. “The man has talked about nothing but this child for weeks and weeks.” She tickled the baby under the chin. “Aren’t you just the sweetest little doll baby.”

Bobby looked over her shoulder. “Man, Dean, no kiddin’. You sure do poop out cute kids.”

Sam glared at John. “Dad. . . .” 

While there was no way that they could hide that Michael was biologically related to one of them and that they’d be raising him as a couple, the boys had planned on limiting the number of people who were aware that the baby literally had two fathers. That John, who was usually a close-mouthed bastard when it came to information, was spouting off about it was frustrating, even if those people he told were trusted colleagues. 

Pastor Jim put a hand on each young man’s shoulder. “The Lord works in mysterious ways. No one here is going to judge you.”

Caleb grinned. “Yeah, we always knew it’d take someone special to get Dean Win-sex-ter to settle down. We just didn’t know how special.”

“I find it extremely comforting,” Joshua added as his wife, Karen, nodded, “that one of the paranormal phenomena we’ve come across actually is beneficent. That’s got a lot of weight on the karmic scale.”

Sam watched as Dean peered closely at each one of them, trying as Sam was, to read their eyes. Obviously, his brother came to the same conclusion that Sam did; there was no censure here, only deep affection. They both relaxed.

“Shall we have the ceremony?” Pastor Jim asked, gesturing at them all to enter the nave of the church.

He knew he wasn’t nearly as emotional as Dean busted his chops for being, but Sam found himself tearing up during the simple ceremony. And he wasn’t the only one. As Dana and Walter stepped forward to take their vows, Sam felt Dean’s hand fumbling for his own and he clasped it gratefully.

As Pastor Jim continued to speak, a feeling began to grow in Sam. It was sort of like reverse déjà vu. Not that they’d done the baptism before, but that they’d be doing it again. Although it wasn’t one of his visions, Sam knew that there would be another child in their future and that thought made Sam smile.

“That’s my boy,” Dean crowed when the baptism was over. “No crying at a little water, not for Mikey.”

Unlike many babies, Michael hadn’t fussed during the water part of the ceremony. He’d just blinked up at Pastor Jim solemnly, as though he had every awareness in the world of what was happening.

“He was a very brave boy,” Jim congratulated the besotted parents. He cleared his throat and addressed his next comment to the entire group of friends. “The Ladies Auxiliary brought in a little dinner for us. If you’d all join me downstairs.”

“Grub?” Dean asked, perking up as he usually did at the mention of free food.

“Yes, grub,” Jim assured him, laughing. “And since they knew it was for you, Mrs. Johnson and Mrs. Nelson brought in Tater Tot Hot Dish. They both remember you boys from your various visits and that it’s a favorite of Dean’s.”

Dean was at first very happy and then very apprehensive. “They, uh, don’t know the circumstances around the baby, do they?” He asked as he bounced Michael on his shoulder.

“Oh, no,” the pastor explained. “Nothing about Michael’s parentage, except that you’re his father.”

“Okay.” Dean turned to Sam and grinned. “Come on, Sammy. Tater Tot Hot Dish.”

Shaking his head fondly, Sam followed. Pastor Jim’s weapon cache was also in the church basement, but was hidden and didn’t take up the entire space anyway. Tables had been set out and as they neared, he could detect the delicious aromas wafting through the air.

Big family dinners weren’t something Sam had a lot of experience with, but he had a feeling he could get used to them. Dean had two plates of his beloved Tater Tot Hot Dish and a heaping serving of teasing when both Caleb and Bobby jibed at him for still eating for two. There was a bit of tenseness when Annie, Joshua’s daughter, took exception to her mother holding the baby. Alex Krycek, of all people, distracted the three year-old by folding napkins into animal shapes while Dana and Walter looked on indulgently.

“They better get used to that,” Sam said in an undertone to Dean. When his brother looked at him expectantly, Sam smiled smugly. “Dana’s going to have a girl.”

“Really?” Dean looked over to where Annie was offering Walter a paper animal and he was accepting the gift like it was a treasure. “Man. She’ll have three daddies to spoil her rotten.” He glanced slyly at Sam. “You know, you could always set up a side business, telling people the gender of their unborn.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I’ll just set up a freak show tent at the circus.” Dean frowned at him and Sam was quick to distract his brother by gesturing over to where Fox Mulder was huddled with Bobby and Caleb. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

Dean swiveled in his seat to look. When he turned back, his expression was unconcerned. “Nah, it’s good. Knowing those two yahoos, they’re telling Foxy tall tales about Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster.”

“I don’t know,” Sam disagreed. To him, Bobby and Caleb looked too serious to be pulling one of their many tricks. Both men were serious hunters, but when they got together, it was like they reverted to their juvenile years.

“I’ve been thinking,” Dean said slowly. “Maybe it would be a good idea to have someone in law enforcement we can count on.”

“Maybe,” Sam replied, after thinking about it. “But from what you and Dad have told me, Mulder gets them into enough trouble as it is.” 

Missouri approached them and reached for Dean’s slicked out plate. “Let me get that for you, sweetie.” When he frowned at her, she took him to task. “What’s that look for? Hasn’t anyone ever done you a favor before?”

“Sure,” Dean responded. “And I appreciate it.”

“But. . .” Missouri coaxed. “Out with it, son. I know that kitchen over there has some wooden spoons in it.”

Dean laughed. “See? That’s the Missouri I know. All this ‘honey’ and ‘sweetie’ was messing with me a little.”

It was Missouri’s turn to frown. “You think that I don’t like you. Child, how could you think that?”

“Maybe because of the way you were busting my chops every five minutes, back in Lawrence.” 

Dean shrugged as he said it, but Sam knew Missouri’s attitude towards him had bothered his brother. At the time, Sam had thought it funny, but knowing Dean’s inner demons better now, he knew why it had upset him so much. Missouri was a trusted ally of their father’s. The thought that one of their dad’s contacts not approving of him had eaten at Dean long after they’d left Kansas.

Missouri put the dishes she’d been clearing from the table down and sat heavily in the chair next to them. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry.” She looked embarrassed. “It just goes to show you that even a psychic can be a fool. You see, when you showed up at my door, I could feel the worry just rolling off of you. Your father had been missing for months, your brother was having visions, and you were back in the place where all your family’s problems started.” She smiled sadly. “I knew that you responded well to your daddy’s authority, so I thought I’d try and treat you like I thought he would, as something for you to hold on to. I guess your papa’s shoes are just too hard to fill. I’m sorry if it hurt you.”

Dean gave her his version of puppy dog eyes. “So, now that Dad’s back, you’re not going to threaten me with a spoon anymore?”

She got up and patted him on the cheek. “Nice try, honey. Now, get your feet off the chair.”

Sam chuckled at the look on Dean’s face, but Annie toddled in before he could say something.

“Pwesents,” the three year-old announced, proudly holding a gift bag.

It was a conspiracy. The others trouped behind her and most of them had a wrapped package too. The exception was John, who was once again holding the baby.

“What’s all this?” Sam asked, surprised. 

“Like she said,” Bobby hooked a thumb at Annie and grinned. “Pwesents.”

“Come on, guys,” Sam protested. “Just you being here was enough, you didn’t have to bring gifts too.”

Dean elbowed him. “Speak for yourself, Sammy. Hey, Mikey, look at this haul.”

Their friends grinned at his enthusiasm and Dean opened the first package just as enthusiastically. It was from Pastor Jim and was a child’s version of the bible.

“Thanks, Pastor,” Dean thanked him.

“You’re welcome,” the other man responded. “And it’s got a waterproof cover that zips, in case he needs it in the field.”

Sam tried not to roll his eyes. If he had anything to say about it, Michael would be well beyond the child years before he was anywhere near a hunt.

Dean made Sam open the next gift, which was from Caleb. When he got the paper off and the box open, though, Sam couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

“Cool,” Dean exclaimed. “I didn’t know they made Kabar knives that small.”

“It doesn’t have an edge on it yet,” Caleb explained. “Thought you might want to wait on that until he gets a little bigger.”

“That might be a good idea,” Sam agreed in a strangled tone, putting the box aside with a murmured thanks.

“Me next, me next!” Annie cried out in excitement. She handed Dean the bag, which was almost as big as she was.

Dean pulled aside the paper and whistled long and low when he saw what was inside. “Sammy, this is more your speed.”

The bag was fully of books, brightly colored children’s books. Dean handed them to Sam, who eagerly looked through them. He’d already started reading to Michael at night and was looking forward to building their son’s library.

None of the titles were ones they had yet. Mostly, they were the type of book that pictured simple objects and had the name beneath. As he paged through them, though, Sam noticed something odd. Underneath each word, the Latin equivalent had been inked in.

“It’s never too early,” Joshua stated sagely. “Kids pick up languages faster than a bad habit. If he learns his Latin young, he’ll pick up rituals better when he’s a little older.”

“Oh, for the love of Pete,” Missouri exclaimed. “This is a baby, not a hunter.” She handed Sam her package, which was considerably larger than the others.

Sam put the books aside and tore open the brightly colored paper, little Annie his willing helper. Inside was a soft, knitted baby blanket.

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” Dana murmured. “Did you make that?”

“Sure did,” Missouri commented. “As soon as John told me that the little one was coming.”

The blanket had an unusual circle pattern and Sam unfolded it to look at it closer. “Missouri, are these dream catchers you’ve knit into the design?”

The psychic nodded. “He’s a Winchester baby. I figure he needed all the help he could get for sweet dreams.”

Sam smiled at her and started to pass the blanket around for the others to admire. As he did, a piece of paper fell out. Dean bent over and picked it up, his expression showing his confusion as he read what was on it.

“Who’s Lydia Devereaux and why is her address in here?” He asked. “It’s about three blocks from where we live.”

“That’s the other part of your present,” Missouri explained. “The poor dear’s ex-husband committed suicide a few months ago and has been haunting her ever since. He can’t let her go even in the afterlife.”

“Your gift is a hunt?” Sam asked, perplexed.

“Did I mention that Lydia runs a daycare?” Missouri said smugly. “And I’ll vouch that she treats any baby in her care as though it were her own. If two brave, strong men were to rid her of her restless spirit problem, I bet she’d cut a deal for taking care of their son.”

As Dean had started feeling better, they’d begun to discuss what they were going to do financially. Dean had a standing offer of a job from Hank, the construction boss that Sam worked for. The idea of working together was appealing, but daycare had been the sticking issue. Dean had reluctantly been considering taking up bartending, something he was good at and brought in a lot of tips, but it would have meant having a schedule opposite of Sam’s. Missouri’s gift would take care of that.

Dean leaned over and kissed Missouri on the cheek. “Thanks.”

She put a hand to her face, skin growing a little dark as she blushed. Even bossy psychics weren’t immune to the Dean Winchester charm.

“Well, I guess I’m next,” Bobby handed Dean a simple white envelope. “Mike’s present from me isn’t quite ready yet.”

“That’s okay,” Sam assured him. “We didn’t expect to get gifts from anybody.”

“Yeah, well,” his friend responded, feet shuffling in embarrassment. “I’ll drive her down when she’s ready.”

“Her?” Sam asked.

Dean showed him what was in the envelope. It was an IOU. Not just any IOU, but for one of Bobby’s trained dogs. 

Bobby’s dogs were infamous in the supernatural hunting world. It was hard to find an animal willing to confront a supernatural nasty, let alone one gung-ho enough to go after it. Bobby’s animals were legendary, but to the best of Sam’s knowledge, he’d never given one to anyone before. The older hunter considered them his children and, when anyone was foolish enough to ask for one, he’d demand to know if a parent would be expected to give a child away.

“Bobby, you sure about this?” Dean asked him, eyes serious.

The other man nodded. “I’m sure. Your dad says you’re not going to be hunting for a good while, but that doesn’t mean that something won’t come after you. Every little bit helps.” He grinned. “Besides, a boy needs a dog.”

“Thank you,” Sam said, hoping his sincerity came through. Having one of Bobby’s dogs around would be an added security measure.

Apparently, his feelings were obvious enough because Bobby blushed like a girl. “I got a bitch all picked out. She’s half cattle dog and half Husky. Named her Xena. Gimme a couple months to work with her and she’ll be able to take care of your boy like she was his nanny.”

That left only their friends from the FBI. The four of them looked at each other and laughed nervously before Walter pulled another envelope out of his coat pocked.

“And here we thought our present would be the strange one,” Walter admitted as he handed it to Dean. “Sorry, Sam, I know it’s your turn to open one, but you’ll see why it’s more appropriate for your brother to do it.”

Sam watched Dean’s face as he opened the envelope and pulled out what looked like a wad of legal documents. Walter’s words had alerted him to the gift being an unusual one, but he wasn’t prepared for all the blood to drain out of Dean’s face. Sam’s heart lurched. It wasn’t all that long ago that Dean had suffered the blood loss; seeing him pale again was a kick in the gut.

“Dean, what is it?” Sam asked. Although he trusted Dana and her husbands, Dean’s reaction had him a little concerned. “What did they give Michael?”

His brother took a shaky breath. “Me.” He looked up and Sam could see the tears glistening in Dean’s eyes as he handed the papers over for Sam to look at. “They gave him me.”

Early on in their travels, Dean’s likeness had been used by a shapeshifter to perpetrate some gruesome murders. While the brothers had killed the shifter, he’d been in Dean’s form when he died. Not only had Dean been declared legally dead, but he was officially considered a serial killer. When Michael had been born, they’d put Dean’s name on the birth certificate anyway. There were too many Dean Winchesters in the world for it to raise any legal flags and, besides, since Dean was considered dead, no one would be looking.

The documents Walter Skinner gave them changed all that.

According to the paperwork, Dean Winchester had been the victim of identity theft. His name had been cleared and his status as being officially dead corrected.

“There are still some police officers in St. Louis who know what that body really looked like,” Walter explained. “So you might want to avoid the city for a few years. Other than that, though, you’ll find that there are no tags on the name Dean Winchester in any police database, and that the crime scene photos and the DNA that was collected has disappeared. You’re a cleared man.”

“Walter,” Dean had to clear his throat. “I don’t know what to say, man. This is incredible.”

“It wasn’t just me.” Walter nodded at Mulder. “Fox had some friends that helped. These three guys are really good at planting information and hacking official computer systems. And Alex liberated the DNA samples and other evidence from storage.”

Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder to steady him. “Thank you so much.” His gaze swept around the room to encompass everyone. “Thank you all.”

Michael chose that moment to start to cry. He’d been passed around from person to person without a fuss, but that came to an abrupt end. Missouri was the one holding him when he started to wail and she tisked in frustration.

“He’s just been fed and burped,” she muttered and she started swaying on her feet to soothe him. “And I know his bottom is dry.”

“Here, let me try,” John took the infant from her, but if anything, Michael’s crying got louder. “I hope he’s not coming down with something.”

Karen, Joshua’s wife, laughed softly. With John glaring at her, she took Michael from him and immediately handed the infant off to Dean. With one last snuffly cry, Michael settled down.

“Sometimes a baby just needs his daddy,” she explained at the others’ pole axed expressions.

Sam reached over and brushed a finger against Michael’s tear-dampened cheek. “I guess Michael’s just not a party animal.”

“I think I’ll take him outside for some air,” Dean stated. “Maybe when he’s way from all the goings-on, he’ll fall asleep.”

Sam seized the opportunity. He loved the people they were with, but needed some time alone with his brother. “I’ll come with you.”

The two walked their son back upstairs and out into the mild evening. Dean had the baby over his shoulder and, once they were outside, stood swaying gently from side to side. Michael was asleep almost immediately, but neither Winchester was eager to go back inside. 

“You okay, Sammy?” Dean asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence. “You’ve been a little quiet tonight.”

Sam laughed softly. “I am such an idiot.”

Dean looked at him askance. “Let’s just say, theoretically, that I disagree with you on that. What are you an idiot about?”

“I walked away from this,” Sam threw his hands up in disgust. “I was so enamored by being normal that I didn’t see how overrated it was.”

His brother shrugged, then winced when the movement caused the baby to stir. Once Michael settled down again, he spoke softly to Sam. “Normal ain’t what you do, Sam. It’s not a white picket fence or a 9 to 5 job or any of that crap. It’s what’s inside and what you value. Those people in there might be freaks to a lot of the world, but they know what’s important. Family. Honor. The safety of the people you love. That’s normal enough for me.”

Sam looked at him in amazement. “When did you get to be so much smarter than me?”

Dean smiled at him sadly. “I had four years of normal in the traditional sense of the word, Sammy. I know how easy it is for it to be ripped away. I learned a long time ago that you’ve got to make your own normal.” He grinned suddenly. “This handsome and I’m smart too. Damn, you’re a lucky man.”

“I am,” Sam said quietly, even though he knew Dean had been teasing to break the emotion-laden moment. “I totally am.”

The brothers lapsed into silence, but it was a comfortable one. Sam watched his brother and the baby for a few moments. Michael brought out the tender side of Dean and Sam never tired of seeing it. The sight now brought him the courage he needed for the idea that had been building.

“I want to go back to New Mexico,” Sam blurted out.

Dean’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Really? I mean, I know I said that I wanted to smash the damn thing, but I was in labor.” He looked down at Michael. “I’m pretty happy with the way things turned out.”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t want to destroy it. I want to touch it. Rub it, even.”

His brother blinked. “You want to what?”

”Not right away,” Sam qualified. “Maybe in a couple of years, after Michael’s out of diapers.”

The silence this time was expectant rather than comfortable.

“It’s not that I don’t want another kid,” Dean said eventually. “I’m just surprised that you want to be the one to have it.”

Sam’s responding smile was humorless. “I’m a selfish bastard, Dean. I can’t sit back and watch you go through that again. The next time, it’ll be my turn.”

Dean looked sheepish. “That’s kind of why I was thinking I’d have the next one too. I’m not so sure I can watch you go through it.”

“Too bad, I already called dibs,” Sam stated firmly. “Besides, you can fuss over me all you want and I won’t be able to complain. All you’ll have to do is remind me how frustrated I was every time you protested when I wanted to take care of you and I’ll behave. Promise.”

His brother thought about it for a minute. “All right, if that’s what you really want. You’re a stubborn bastard too, so I know there’s no talking you out of it.” His expression grew contemplative. “A couple of years, huh?”

”Maybe when Michael’s three,” Sam suggested. “That’d put the two of them about four years apart. That’s a good age spread, don’t you think?”

Dean shifted the baby and held out a hand to Sam. “You know what I think? I think we ought to tell these nice people goodnight and go back to the motel.” His grin grew sly. “We can practice your idol rubbing technique on my tummy.”

Sam grinned at his brother’s obvious ploy and let himself be led back inside to their family. Dean had obviously been thinking along the same lines as he had, about providing Michael with a sibling. It was awfully soon to be talking about it, but Sam knew despite what Dean had said, that it would take more convincing to get him to agree to let Sam carry their second son. There was no doubt in Sam’s mind that their second child would be a boy too and he liked the symmetry of that.

“Wait a minute,” Sam said softly before they went back downstairs. 

Dean stopped and looked at him expectantly. “What?”

”Nothing,” Sam responded sheepishly. “I just love you, you know?”

”I know.” There was nothing cocky in Dean’s answering smile. “Me too.”

Sam bent forward and kissed Dean almost reverently, then he planted a soft kiss on the top of the sleeping baby’s head. “Okay, I’m ready to rejoin the party now.”

And he was. The others had given Michael presents, but Sam knew that his son’s best gift was still years away. His heart full as he watched his brother carry their child downstairs, Sam knew that their family had only just begun.

Because Sam Winchester knew, better than most, that the best gift that his child would ever receive would be having a brother.

~ the end ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted September 7, 2006


	29. Sam's Turn

There were three things that Dean Winchester never got tired of doing: driving the Impala, making love to Sam and watching his son. He was indulging in the last of those, leaning back against the fence that surrounded Liddy Devereaux’s back yard. The jungle gym she kept for the children in her daycare was swarming with kids, including Dean’s son, Michael. He could see the boy’s mop of brown hair as Michael hung upside down by his knees, exhibiting the casual athleticism that marked the men in his family.

On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Michael attended preschool, but he was at the daycare for the rest of the week. Sam had pick-up duty on school days; Dean on daycare ones. It was an arrangement that suited Dean just fine. Since Liddy’s house was only a few blocks from the Winchester’s, Dean would park in his own drive and then go on foot, weather permitting, to get Michael. The walk back was always full of a little boy’s chatter and Dean enjoyed those conversations with the four year-old about his son’s day.

Even though the boy was busy playing with his friends, Dean had only been watching for a minute when Michael spotted him. The kid was impossible to sneak up on.

“DeeDee!”

With his child’s limberness, Michael righted himself before dropping to the ground and running to his father. Dean braced for impact as his son launched himself at him. He caught the youngster easily, but made of show of grunting an ‘oof’ sound anyway.

“Hey, who let the monkeys out of the zoo?” Dean teased, hefting the child over his shoulder.

Michael giggled and started squirming, trying to climb down his father’s back. “I’m not a monkey, DeeDee.”

“You’re not?” Dean grabbed Michael by the ankles and held him at arm’s length. Unperturbed by the upside down position, the boy grinned up at him. “You sure you’re not a monkey?” Dean looked down Michael’s pant leg. “I thought I saw a tail down there.” 

“I’m not a monkey,” Michael thumped his chest. “I’m a Winchester.”

Dean grinned. “Good answer.”

Gently, he lowered his son to the ground. The boy bounced to his feet and wrapped his arms around Dean’s hips.

“Can we go home and see DaSa?” He asked. “I want to talk to brother some more.”

They’d started out referring to each other as Daddy Dean and Daddy Sam. That had worked well enough when Michael was an infant; he was a bright boy and figured out who was who. The problem had come when Michael started trying to talk. He understood the concept of Daddy Dean and Daddy Sam well enough, but those names were far too long for a baby to manage. Daddy Dean had become DeeDee and Daddy Sam was shortened to DaSa. Before being a father, such preciousness would have gagged Dean, but now he already found himself cherishing it, knowing the sweetness to be fleeting. Michael would be starting kindergarten next year and sooner or later, peer pressure would likely put an end to his unique names for his fathers. 

Or maybe not. Michael was Sam’s son too. Although it rarely reared its ugly head, Michael had inherited Sam’s stubborn streak. Dean could very well end up being DeeDee to his son for the rest of his life. He could live with that.

“He’s been talking about his brother all day,” Liddy said as she walked over. “I’ve never seen a child so anxious for a sibling to be born.”

Lydia Devereaux had been the best ‘present’ the Winchesters had ever received. Missouri had been right. Once the brothers had ridded the woman of her ex-husband’s haunting spirit, she’d been happy to give them a deal on daycare. It had turned into more than that, though. Liddy had become a part of the family. Given the circumstances under which they met her, the Winchesters could be honest with her about the family’s hunting. Not only that, but she was the female presence that Michael needed. Missouri and Dana Scully were both loving aunts, but they didn’t live nearby. Liddy did and, with no children of her own, doted on Michael. The brothers eventually revealed everything to her, including their relationship and the circumstances surrounding Michael’s birth. Liddy had taken it all in stride.

“And how’s Sam feeling?” Liddy asked

“You know Sam,” Dean answered with a grin. Then, seeing as no one was near enough to overhear, added, “He’s still glowing. I swear the man was born to be pregnant.”

“That’s a blessing,” Liddy responded and Dean was reminded that she had suffered a number of miscarriages before giving up on being a mother. “Just a couple of more weeks to go, right?”

“Ten days,” Dean corrected her and then grinned ruefully. “But who’s counting?”

A tug on his pants leg brought his attention back to his son. It never ceased to amaze Dean to look into green eyes so like his own.

“DeeDee,” Michael pleaded. Even though he had Dean’s green eyes instead of Sam’s darker ones, Michael could do a puppy dog expression with the best of them. Between the two of them, Dean didn’t stand a chance. “Can we go see DaSa and brother now?”

“All right, kiddo,” Dean ruffled the boy’s hair. “Go get your backpack and we’ll hit the road.”

”Okay.”

Dean watched fondly as Michael obediently ran back towards the house. The kid had two speeds, fast and faster.

“I almost hate to see him go off to school next year, he’s such a sweet boy,” Liddy commented sadly. Then she snapped her fingers. “Sweet, that reminds me. I baked a cherry cobbler today that I want to send home with you. I know that father of yours doesn’t like to admit that he has a sweet tooth, but he does.”

“Liddy, you didn’t have to do that,” Dean protested, even as his mouth started watering. John Winchester wasn’t the only one with a sweet tooth. “You do so much for us already.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” she dismissed his comment with a blush. Just then, a child’s wail caught her attention. “Oh, dear.”

Seeing that it was just a squabble and not an emergency, Dean let her sort it out. It didn’t take long for Michael to return with his backpack. 

“Ready, DeeDee.”

“Hang on there, Mikey,” Dean stopped his son from trotting down the sidewalk. “Miss Liddy has something she wants to send home with us for your grandfather.”

“Miss Liddy likes Grandpa,” Michael giggled. 

“Really,” Dean said carefully. “Why do you say that?”

“He makes her all warm and bright,” his son explained. “Like you and DaSa do with each other.”

Dean cursed silently. Sam was much better at this stuff than he was.

“Michael,” Dean squatted so that he was at the child’s eye level. “You weren’t peeking in on Miss Liddy, were you?”

The little boy’s face grew solemn. “No, DeeDee. Peeking is naughty and I’m not supposed to do it unless a grown up asks me to do something wrong and I have to know if he’s a bad guy or not. Or if you or DaSa or Grandpa says it’s okay.” 

Dean gently grasped the boy’s chin, looking deeply into Michael’s eyes. “Then how do you know that Miss Liddy likes Grandpa?”

Michael’s voice grew colored with frustration. “She gushes, DeeDee. I can’t help it.”

Seeing the truth in his son’s eyes and hearing the honest aggravation in his tone, Dean let go and stood, ruffling the child’s hair. “Okay, then. Good boy.” 

It had taken them a while to realize that Michael could pick up on people’s emotions. As a newborn, he’d seemed very in tune to the people around him, but being new parents, neither Winchester had realized the import. As he grew older, though, it became more apparent. Thankfully, touch played an important role, although if the emotion were strong enough and the person feeling it were someone he knew well, Michael could pick up on it anyway. After several heart-to-heart discussions, they’d decided to be very matter of fact with Michael about his ability. Hopefully, if they emphasized proper use of it when he was young enough, it’d be ingrained into his character as he got older. Neither Winchester wanted their son to grow up to be a Max.

Dean looked over to where Liddy was still negotiating a truce between two arguing children. “Come on, let’s go home. Your DaSa’s waiting.”

Michael frowned. “But you said we had to wait for Miss Liddy to get something for Grandpa?”

“Well, we’ll just send Grandpa back for it later. It’ll give him a reason to come see Miss Liddy.” Dean winked at the little boy. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Uh-huh.” Michael pantomimed zipping his lips shut and throwing away the key.

“I think Grandpa likes Miss Liddy too,” Dean whispered hoarsely. Michael giggled and covered his mouth with both hands.

Dean grinned. The match wasn’t all that unlikely. Liddy Devereaux was about 15 years older than he was, which made her younger than John Winchester, but close enough in age that they had plenty to talk about. Of course, John had been so long out of the dating game that, if left to his own devices, hell would freeze over before he could return any of the woman’s interest. A little matchmaking, Dean figured, couldn’t hurt.

Before they left Liddy’s, Dean whistled sharply. A white shape emerged from underneath the deck attached to the house. Another plus of having Michael’s daycare with Liddy was that she didn’t mind Xena’s presence. When the all of the kids were out, the dog tended to stay out of reach of the little ones, but she was always on guard.

“Good girl,” Dean murmured to the animal as Xena trotted to greet him. The dog’s tail wagged, but Dean wasn’t fooled. If he so much as lifted a hand to Michael, Xena would rip his whole arm off. Not that he ever would, but it was a comfort to know that his son had a four-footed bodyguard.

The odd trio made their way down the sidewalk, the man instinctively shortening his stride so that the child could keep up. Michael walked between his two protectors, holding his father’s hand with one hand and keeping his other arm draped over the dog’s back.

“You okay there, kiddo?” Dean asked. Michael was unusually quiet. A good-natured child, it wasn’t like his son to be pensive.

“DeeDee, you know how DaSa taught me to say the daddy prayer when people gush at me?”

It took Dean a moment to work out what Michael meant. Sam had taught Michael to repeat the Lord’s Prayer as a way to help block out the emotions of others when they became too strong.

“Yeah,” Dean answered.

Big green eyes looked up at him, worried. “Is it okay if I use something else?”

Dean wasn’t gifted, the way his brother and son were, but he knew enough to know that it didn’t matter what Michael actually repeated to himself as a blocking technique, only that it was a mantra or chant that helped him wall unwanted emotions out. Whether that was ‘Our Father, who art in heaven’ or something else entirely didn’t really matter.

“Sure,” Dean answered heartily. “Did you find something that works better?”

“Yeah.” Michael was still hesitant.

“Well, let’s hear it,” Dean encouraged him.

Michael took a big breath and started reciting. “There’s lady who’s sure, all that glitters is gold. . . . .”

By the time he was finished, Dean was hard-pressed not to laugh. Sam was so going to kill him, rightfully blaming Dean for their son’s taste in music.

Instead of letting his amusement show, however, Dean held out a closed fist to his son. “Zeppelin rules.”

Michael’s relief was palatable as he returned the gesture. “Zeppelin rules.”

Dean ruffled Michael’s hair again and in a companionable silence, they walked the rest of the way home. When they reached their yard, Xena ran ahead, barking. John was waiting for them on the porch, smiling as he leaned against the wooden frame.

John Winchester had a lot to smile about, now that the demon was dead.

Michael had been five months old when John finally got a lead on his longtime foe. It had given them a month to prepare, such a short span of time given how long they’d been tracking the demon. John had called in every marker he had, contacted each and every hunter he’d ever crossed paths with or heard of. 

And they’d come, despite the danger to their bodies and souls. They’d answered the call; every man and woman of them.

They didn’t come because of John. Hell, he’d alienated many of them along the way. They came because of John’s boys and maybe because most of the hunters had lost a family member or two somewhere along the way and were eager to strike a blow back.

When the demon came the night that Michael turned six months old, it was expecting the Winchesters to be unprepared. Instead, it found itself up against a small army of hunters, each of them armed to the teeth.

They’d almost lost anyway.

A demon was still a demon, even if it’d been caught with its pants down. It was too canny to be tricked into entering the Devil’s Trap that Bobby had drawn on the floor of the old cabin they were using. That complicated matters. They lost Father Jim and Caleb that night and counted themselves lucky that the body count hadn’t been higher. Dean had ended up on the ceiling, his belly ripped opened. He’d never forget looking down at Sam and seeing his brother’s face twist first with fear and then with anger. The other hunters were throwing everything they had at the thing, but it hadn’t done any good. Sam had turned from Dean to stare at the demon with a concentration that left his nose and ears bleeding. Somehow, with the power of his mind alone, Sam managed to stop it in its tracks and hold it there. Just for the barest of moments, but that was long enough for Daniel Elkins to take aim with an antique Colt revolver he’d brought to the battle and pull the trigger. 

Sam hadn’t even waited for the demon to fall. Instead, he’d turned away so he could catch Dean when the demon’s demise released his brother from the ceiling. Thankfully, the cut had been shallower than it looked; the demon had wanted its victims to burn, not bleed out. Even so, Dean had endured several weeks of mother henning from both his brother and his father. Mere months had gone by since his blood loss from Michael’s birth and they hadn’t gotten over that scare yet.

Obtaining the vengeance he’d been craving for over twenty years had eased something in John. He still hunted, but not with the single-mindedness that he had before. Sometimes Dean hunted with him, but rarely Sam and never the two brothers together. They were well aware that they had a child to raise and refused to take unnecessary risks that might leave Michael parentless.

“Grandpa!” 

Michael’s happy cry tore Dean out of his unhappy memories. He watched with satisfaction as his son ran into his father’s arms and was lifted high in the air. Dean’s smile at the sight was uncharacteristically tender. He’d begun to let himself hope that his father would be around long enough to watch his grandson grow up.

“Miss Liddy made a cobbler for you,” Michael was telling his grandfather as Dean joined them.

“Did she now?” John asked. “Where is it? You didn’t eat it on the way home, did you?”

Michael giggled. “No, DeeDee forgot it.”

“Son, that’s no way to treat a lady,” John said sadly to Dean. He smacked his lips. “Or a cobbler.”

“Well, you can just go down there a little later and pick it up,” Dean responded with a bland smile. “Liddy did say she made it especially for you, to satisfy some craving she thinks you have.”

John Winchester blushed.

Michael started squirming. “Put me down, Grandpa. I want to go see DaSa and talk to brother.”

“Okay, but no jumping on him,” John admonished as he set Michael on his feet. “It’s too close to the baby coming.”

“I know, Grandpa,” Michael rolled his eyes before trotting off into the house.

John gave Dean a significant glance, but Dean just shrugged. He didn’t know why people always looked at him when Michael showed any attitude.

“How is he?” Dean asked, jerking his head towards the house. Like he had with Dean’s pregnancy, John had come to stay with them during the last several weeks of Sam’s.

“He’s making tofu stir-fry for supper,” John stated dryly. “That ought to tell you something.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Sam’ll be in bed by 8 o’clock. We’ll order a pizza.”

“What about Michael?”

“He likes tofu,” Dean snorted. “Go figure. Must be Sammy’s genes.”

Dean followed his son into the house and leaned on the door frame, just drinking in the sight of his lover. Sam didn’t look pregnant, a fact which irritated Dean no end. Sam’s tall, lanky frame carried the child particularly well, he looked merely chunky instead of about ready to pop, the way Dean remembered looking and feeling the last few weeks of his own pregnancy. Dana Scully, who was once again looking after a pregnant Winchester male, assured them that some pregnant women didn’t show very much either. Dean wasn’t buying it; the damn idol liked Sam better than Dean was all. 

Michael had clearly interrupted his father while Sam was setting the table. Sam was standing with a plate in his hand, grinning from ear to ear. Michael had dragged over a little stool they had for him and was standing on it. The four year-old was talking earnestly to Sam’s stomach. No doubt he was telling his unborn brother all about his day.

Dean must have made some noise, because Sam looked up. Seeing his brother’s face, Dean saw his own deep contentment mirrored there.

“Hey, Sammy,” he walked over to kiss Sam. “How goes the blackboard jungle?”

Sam shrugged as he stroked Michael’s hair. “Same as always. I know I couldn’t have been that hopeless when I was a freshman.”

When Michael was two, Dean had convinced Sam to go back to school. To his surprise, Sam had lost interest in studying law, instead opting to go after a doctoral degree in anthropology, with an emphasis on the study of the occult. Sam had taken just a class or two at first, but his advisor all but salivated at Sam’s working knowledge of occult-related literature and resources. Sam had kept his construction job until he became pregnant, which made it unwise to continue with it. At that point, he finally gave in and took the research assistantship that his advisor had been tempting him with for over a year. Since Sam never really looked pregnant, he could be out and with people more than they’d dared with Dean, something Dean was grateful for. He’d never wish that kind of isolation on anyone, let alone someone he loved.

Dean snorted. “I might not know much about college life, but I’m pretty sure you weren’t a typical freshman, Sammy.”

“No, I suppose not.” Sam agreed. “And you know what? I’m glad.”

The brothers shared a grin and then Dean looked down at their son.

“So, champ, what does your baby brother have to say?” He asked the youngster. 

Michael had left off talking to the baby and was resting his head against Sam’s stomach. His father’s question wasn’t exactly an idle one. Michael had claimed to be able to ‘hear’ the baby’s emotions for some months and, given his abilities, none of the Winchesters doubted him. 

“Brother doesn’t have enough room,” Michael announced. 

“That’s because your DaSa’s tummy didn’t get big enough,” Dean responded, grinning when Sam rolled his eyes. His brother had heard Dean’s opinion about his lack of baby gut on more than once occasion. 

“The baby isn’t in his tummy, DeeDee,” Michael explained impatiently. “It’s in DaSa’s you-ter-us.”

Dean grinned. Michael was smart as a whip, smarter even than Sammy had been at that age. 

“I stand corrected,” he said to his son. To Sam, he added an aside. “His health teacher is in for one heck of a ride with him.”

Knowing it would be useless to keep a secret as big as a baby from Michael, the brothers hadn’t tried to hide Sam’s pregnancy. It wasn’t as big a risk as it seemed; the good thing about a child that could read emotions was that he could tell when his parents were serious. It might have been a problem if Liddy hadn’t been someone they trusted, but as it was, it had been a joy to involve Michael in the developing pregnancy and he’d kept the secret well.

“Michael, your brother’s fine,” Sam put the plate down and crouched to reassure the child. “He’s going to do a lot of growing in the next week or so, but it’s perfectly natural for him to run out of room a little bit.”

“Nah-huh,” Michael shook his head so hard that his bangs flopped across his face. “Brother’s gonna be born now. Not gonna wait.”

Michael hopped down from his stool and started bouncing around the room. “Brother is coming! Brother is coming!”

Dean and Sam looked at one another, shell-shocked. 

“What’s all the ruckus about?” John asked, obviously having been drawn into the house by Michael’s antics.

“Mikey says that the baby isn’t going to wait another ten days,” Dean answered him in a strangled voice. “He’s coming now.”

“Holy shit,” John said, summing up the situation for all of them.

Michael stopped jumping up and down.

“Grandpa said a bad word,” he announced to the adults, in case they’d missed it. 

The little boy ran to the living room and came back with a jar that was so big, he had to hold it with both arms. “You said a naughty word, Grandpa.”

Not breaking eye contact with his boys, John dug into his pocket and got out his wallet. He took out a bill and obediently dropped into the jar labeled ‘college fund.’ The container was about half full and Michael watched the newest addition drop in with satisfaction. As he looked around at the adults, however, his happy expression started to fade. A few more moments and his lower lip started to quiver.

“Why is everybody scared?” Michael asked. 

Dean swooped down and picked up the little boy, leaving the jar on the floor. “Hey, Mikey, nobody’s scared. We’re just a little surprised is all.”

Michael hid his face in his father’s neck. “Isn’t it good that brother’s coming?”

He’d been rubbing Michael’s back, but Dean’s hand paused momentarily. “Sure it is. You’re not the only one anxious to meet him, you know.”

“That’s right,” Sam added, coming over to add his touch to his brother’s. “And we’re very lucky to have you here to tell us your brother is ready to make his entrance.”

A faint sniff was Michael’s only answer.

“See, you’re being a good big brother already and the baby’s not even born yet,” Dean assured the child. 

“I am?” Michael lifted his head to look at each of his fathers in turn. 

“Absolutely,” Sam chimed in. He tickled Michael under the chin, causing a giggle.

Dean kissed the boy on the head and put him down. “DaSa and I have some phone calls to make, so you need to go with Grandpa and pack your bag. Looks like you’re going to be staying with Miss Liddy a little sooner than we thought.”

The child’s expression grew mulish. “But I want to come with you and hold brother when he comes out.”

His fathers exchanged a significant look over his head. There was no way in hell they were allowing a child who could sense feelings anywhere near the birthing chamber.

“Michael, we talked about this,” Sam reminded him. “Your job as the big brother is to stay with Miss Liddy.”

“But. . . .” Michael started to protest.

“No means no, kiddo,” Dean chided him, putting a hand on Michael’s shoulder and steering him towards John. “You want to be a good big brother, right?”

”Right,” came the reluctant answer.

“Well, sometimes being the older brother means doing things you don’t want to,” Dean replied. 

Michael’s sigh was big for such a little boy. “Like going to Miss Liddy’s?”

Dean smiled. “Exactly.”

“Okay,” Michael caved in, moving slowly towards his grandfather. “But when I do those big brother things I don’t want to do, I don’t have to like it, do I?”

“No,” Dean laughed, more at Sam’s choked back snort than at Michael’s attitude. “Now, quit stalling and get to it.”

”C’mon, Mike,” John said as he picked Michael up and swung him up on his shoulder. “I’ll tell you some stories about when your dads were kids while we get you packed.”

The brothers watched them go, John making sure Michael ducked his head as they went through the door.

“That right there, Dad threatening to tell him about when we were kids?” Dean stated. “That’s scarier than the shit we used to hunt.”

“You do realize that we’re acting on the medical advice of a four year-old?” Sam asked wryly.

“Damn straight,” Dean growled. “I’m not taking any chances. You are not giving birth in the back of the car.” Realizing that he’d revealed more concern than he was comfortable with, Dean shrugged with his best air of nonchalance. “It’s hell on the upholstery.”

Sam, as usual, saw right through him.

“We know what we’re doing this time around,” his brother assured him. “Trust me, I don’t want to have the baby in the back of the Impala any more than you want me to. It was enough that he was conceived there.”

Dean flushed at the memory.

When the time was right to start working on their second son, they’d left Michael with his grandfather and taken off for New Mexico in the Impala. Sam was as impatient as Dean’d ever seen him. They arrived in town fairly late in the evening, well after the park the idol was located in was closed. Sam had insisted that they go anyway. Whether it was because Sam’s was sensitive or that the fertility idol really did like him better, Sam had gotten a definite buzz when he’d rubbed it. Afterwards, he’d barely let Dean get to the car before he’d pounced him. It was lucky for the brothers that the park had been closed and empty, otherwise they likely would have been arrested for lewd and lascivious behavior.

The baby had most assuredly been conceived in the Impala, but whether it was on the first, second, or third attempt was anybody’s guess.

“So, have you had any itching, you know, down there?” Dean asked.

“No,” Sam sighed and rubbed his face. “I suppose I better go look, though.”

He moved towards the bathroom, but when Dean made to follow him, Sam stopped his brother by throwing up a hand.

“I think I can handle this, myself, thanks,” Sam smirked. “Besides, if you put your head in between my legs, we might get distracted.

Dean huffed. “C’mon, Sam, this is serious.”

Sam’s smile looked a little green around the edges. “I know, I know. It’s just. . . we’re having a baby, you know?”

“And after carrying him for nine months, this is just now occurring to you?” Dean asked with an amused smile. In truth, he knew how Sam felt. There was a huge difference between knowing theoretically you were going to birth a child and knowing the arrival was immanent. 

Seeing the understanding in Dean’s eyes, Sam’s smile grew more genuine. “Yeah, well, I always was a slow learner.”

Dean paced the whole time Sam was in the bathroom. It seemed like an eternity before the door opened and, when it did, Dean was waiting anxiously right outside. 

“Well?”

Sam kept a serious face for about five seconds and then grinned broadly. “I guess I won’t be buying any tampons just yet.”

Grinning himself, Dean leaned up and kissed his brother soundly. “Good, that means we have a little time. I started itching about twelve hours before contractions started, give or take. I think we still need to call Dana and Lenny, though.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam sighed. “I’ll take Dana, you call Lenny.”

Dean nodded and reached for his cell phone.

Meeting Lenny had been something good that had come from their battle with the demon. Dr. Leonard Goodman was a shaman, but he didn’t eschew modern medical science. He was relatively new to the hunting world. Caleb brought him in for the final battle with the demon, figuring they’d need medical help since Dana Scully was eight months pregnant and no one wanted her near the fight. Ironically, Caleb died anyway, but it wasn’t Lenny’s fault; no doctor can cure decapitation. It was Lenny’s swift medical intervention that had saved Dean’s life that night and the Winchesters had come to trust him. Dana was Sam’s doctor for the pregnancy, but they used Lenny’s private clinic for exams. Since the man treated a few hunters, he had a special set-up that was completely private.

“Lenny,” Dean explained after they exchanged greetings. “Mikey says that his brother is going to make an appearance earlier than we thought.”

“Well, that’s not real surprising, the first one can be a bit iffy with the timing,” Lenny responded. Like the Winchesters, he didn’t doubt what Michael had detected. “Is Sam showing any other signs?”

“He hasn’t popped a pussy yet, if that’s what you mean.” Dean answered. They’d explained the details of Dean’s pregnancy to the man. “I think we have a little time, but I don’t want to mess around with it much.”

“No, no sense taking chances,” Lenny agreed. “You boys better call that lady doctor of yours and come on down.”

Dean heard Sam’s voice in the background, talking to Dana. “Sam’s on the phone with her now.”

“Good,” Lenny replied. “I’ll put clean sheets on the guest beds.”

“See you in a couple of hours,” Dean told him before he hung up.

Sam’s phone conversation ended at the same time and he looked at Dean with a nervous half-smile. “Dana wants to see me right away; she’ll meet us at Lenny’s.” He took a shaky breath. “I guess we’re having a baby.”

“I guess we are,” Dean replied, he walked slowly towards Sam and kissed him until he felt his brother start to respond.

Sam put one hand on Dean’s belly, right where his scar from the demon was. That gesture had become a habit of his, especially when things got tough. “It’s going to be just fine.”

“Damn straight it is,” Dean growled, reaching up to claim Sam’s mouth again.

The sound of a clearing throat brought them back to the here and now.

“Isn’t it that kind of thing that got you boys in trouble in the first place?” John was grinning as he said it. Four years of watching his sons together as a couple had gone a long way to helping him accept them as lovers.

“You all set?” Sam asked brightly. Michael was standing next to his grandfather, head down as he stared at his toes.

“Yeah.”

“Hey, it’s just for a little while,” Sam tried to encourage the boy. He picked up the child, prompting a glare from his father for not heeding his lifting limitations, which he blithely ignored. “Before you know it, your grandpa will be driving you to see us and your new brother.”

“I s’ppose.” Michael still wasn’t looking at either of them.

At Sam’s helpless look, Dean took the youngster from him. “Mikey, you remember when you played T-ball?” When Michael gave the barest of nods, Dean continued. “You know how when it was your turn to bat, you were excited, but a little bit nervous about doing a good job?”

“Yeah,” came the muffled response.

“Well, that’s how DaSa and I feel. We’re excited that you’re brother is arriving, but a little worried about doing a good job helping him come out.”

“You’ll be with DaSa, right?” Mikey lifted his face to ask. Clearly, he felt nothing could happen to his father if his other father was around.

“Every minute,” Dean promised. “Now, be a good boy for Miss Liddy, okay?”

“Okay,” Michael agreed. He wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck and gave his father a big hug. 

Dean hugged him back, closing his eyes and kissing the boy on the temple. Reluctantly, he handed him back to Sam, who did the same.

“And I’ll take care of DeeDee,” Sam told him as they hugged. “You know, make sure Aunt Dana puts out pillows for him to land on in case he faints.”

Michael giggled and, when Sam set him down, went willingly to his grandfather. John nodded at them seriously as he took the child’s hand.

“I’ll see him settled at Liddy’s and then I’ll be on the way,” he indicated. “You’re taking the usual route, right?”

“Yeah, why?” Dean frowned.

John smiled. “I want to keep my eye out for the Impala on the side of the road. Wouldn’t want history to repeat itself; we’d never get so lucky a second time. The upholstery would be ruined.”

Sam snorted. “Just get going.”

With a couple more last-minute hugs and lots of waving, John and Michael set out for the babysitter’s. The house seemed suddenly quiet without their son’s presence.

“Well, I guess we better shag ass,” Dean finally stated. “We’d never hear the end of it if Dad had to ride to the rescue.”

Having spent their formative years on the road, packing was a no-brainer for the Winchester boys and they were soon heading to the car. Dean had both bags, despite Sam’s protest that he was perfectly capable of carrying his own. As they approached the Impala, however, Dean remembered he had stuff in the trunk that he’d rather Sam not see.

“You get in,” Dean instructed his brother. “I’ll take care of this.”

Assuming that Sam was doing as he was told, Dean moved around the back of the vehicle and opened the trunk. The small space that used to be full of weapons was stuffed with other things, folded towels, quilts and other paraphernalia taking up most the room. With a little minor pushing and rearranging, though, Dean managed to make it fit. He closed the trunk with a satisfied thunk, but as it came down, he jumped to find Sam standing right next to him instead of in the passenger’s seat.

“When I was stocking up back when you were pregnant, I got most of mine at garage sales,” Sam offered, a small smile playing around his lips as he leaned up against the car with one hip. “Somehow, I don’t see you doing that.”

“Thrift store,” Dean answered succinctly. “Not that any of it’s going to be needed, you’re going to have the baby in that nice, clean room, with not one, but two doctors dancing attendance.”

“I know,” Sam responded easily. “But it never hurts to be prepared.”

Dean shrugged. “Just call me a Boy Scout.”

Sam snorted. “Dean, if there’s one thing you never were, it’s a Boy Scout.”

“No, I couldn’t get past the dorky uniform,” Dean grinned. He kissed Sam quickly and slapped his brother on the ass, urging him to get in the car. “But I dated a Den Mother once; she showed me how to tie all sorts of knots.”

Sam let himself be helped into the car. “I don’t think I want to know the details.”

Dean winked at him. “I tell you what, after the baby comes and you have your strenuous activity prohibition lifted, I’ll show you everything she taught me.” 

The banter helped lightened the mood and with less tension, the two brothers headed down the road. The bad part about using Lenny’s facilities was the drive; it was over two hours away. Not wanting a repeat of Dean’s experience, the Winchesters had already figured on heading out to Lenny’s several days before the baby’s expected arrival, with John taking Michael back to Liddy’s when the actual labor started. They were counting on Sam experiencing the same itching that Dean had and that had been intended to be their ‘early warning system.’ They hadn’t thought of Michael’s talents coming in handy, but weren’t about to ignore the extra time it gave them.

“So, how’s little Scott Christopher doing?” Dean asked, breaking the companionable silence when they got outside of town.

“Christopher Scott is doing just fine,” Sam replied, his hand resting on his stomach. “He hasn’t had a lot of room to move around in the last couple of weeks, but I get a ripple now and again.”

“I told you, Sammy,” Dean stated. “We can’t name him Christopher.”

“I don’t get what you have against the name,” Sam protested. It was an old argument. Unlike with Michael, the brothers were having a hard time coming to an agreement.

“Kids’ names get shortened, Sammy. Christopher becomes Chris, which becomes Chrissy,” Dean explained. “Chrissy’s not only a girl’s name, but it rhymes with sissy. Not gonna happen.”

When Sam didn’t answer right away, Dean took his eyes off the road long enough to glance over at him. Sam was sitting there with that look on his face, the one that said Dean was being an idiot, but that Sam loved him anyway.

“What?”

Sam chuckled. “You know, for a gay man who’s actually given birth, you have this big hang-up about your masculinity.”

“I’m not gay, Sammy,” Dean stated. He didn’t have to look at Sam to know his brother was rolling his eyes at him.

“Okay, bisexual,” Sam qualified. Dean’s appreciation for the female form was well known, even if he hadn’t been tempted by anyone but Sam since they’d gotten together.

“Nope,” Dean denied, trying hard not to smile. “Not that either.”

“Come on, Dean,” Sam’s voice sounded a little exasperated. “I know you’re not heterosexual. I’m the man you impregnated, remember?”

“No, I’m not hetero either.”

“You’re not gay, you’re not bisexual and you’re not heterosexual,” Sam summed up. “Then what are you?”

“I’m Sammy-sexual,” Dean claimed with a grin. “There’s one - and only one - person on the planet who does it for me and that’s you.”

He expected his pronouncement to get him some sort of response, but Sam didn’t say anything. When Dean looked over at him, Sam was looking at him with tears in his eyes.

“And you say I’m the one who’s emotional,” Sam said when he saw Dean looking at him. “You are one giant ball of mush, Dean Winchester.”

“Only for you, Sammy,” Dean replied quietly.

“Yeah, I know.” Sam reached over and put his hand on Dean’s belly again and they rode that way in silence for a long time.

Dean had forgotten how good it was to be on the road together, just the two of them. He could play his music as loud as he wanted and not have to worry about damaging little ears. 

“You know, it is possible to listen to something that doesn’t make your ears bleed,” Sam teased.

Dean felt a little guilty. Sam was about to go through the experience of childbirth, after all. “Is there something you’d rather listen to?”

“No, between you and Michael, I’m used to it.” Sam grinned. “But for the last nine months, when it’s only me in the house, I’ve been playing polka music to the baby, just to even the odds.”

“Great,” Dean retorted, grinning broadly. “He’ll have a sissy name and he’ll listen to crappy tunes.”

Arguments about baby names and music aside, it was an uneventful trip and they pulled up at Lenny’s only a little bit later than expected. Sam didn’t have a huge baby gut, but his bladder did get some added pressure, necessitating additional bathroom stops. When Sam got out of the car, Dean couldn’t help but notice an expression of discomfort on Sam’s face.

“Sammy, you okay?” He asked, all trace of their earlier banter gone.

“I’m fine,” his brother reassured him. “It just itches a little.”

Dean felt his stomach drop. “How long?”

Sam shrugged. “About three towns back.”

“You should have said something,” Dean bitched, taking Sam’s arm to guide him up the few steps to Lenny’s front door.

“We were almost here and you couldn’t do anything about it anyway,” Sam answered reasonably. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Next time, worry me,” Dean complained.

Sam had actually been pretty good about his promise to let Dean fuss as much as he wanted. It helped that Sam’s pregnancy had seemed charmed. Other than some odd food cravings, including entirely too much tofu for Dean’s taste, Sam hadn’t experienced any complications.

“There you boys are,” the door opened and Lenny Goodman greeted them. “I was beginning to get worried.”

“Sam’s started itching,” Dean replied, not bothering to return the greeting. Good manners were never his strong suit, but especially not when Sam’s health was in question.

“Well, come on in and we’ll take a look-see,” Lenny stepped back to let them into the house. “Dana and company aren’t. . . ah, speak of the devil.”

The Winchesters turned to see a dark sedan pulling into the driveway. Dana Scully and one of her husbands, Walter Skinner, exited the vehicle. Dana waved when she saw the men by the door. 

“I’m sorry we’re late,” Dana called out as they approached. “Gretchen wanted to come and it wasn’t until we convinced her that Michael wasn’t going to be here that she’d let us leave without her.”

Dean didn’t doubt it for a minute. Gretchen was the oldest Scully-Mulder-Skinner-Krycek daughter and she was a pistol. She’d also taken a shine to Michael, claiming she was going to marry him someday. From what Dean had seen of the little girl, Mikey had better start picking out china patterns. 

“Fox and Alex looking after the girls?” Sam asked, one hand resting comfortably on his stomach.

“Yes,” Walter answered. “And since they’ll be outnumbered, they’ll have their hands full.”

Dana had given birth to their third daughter just four months earlier. Gretchen was three and half, Hannah was two and Annabelle was the baby. The Winchesters often took Michael and visited the other family. The girls were adorable, but Dean was immensely relieved that he would be raising sons; he knew what to expect from a little boy. On their last visit, for example, Michael had refused to play tea party with Gretchen. Dean still wasn’t sure how it happened, but somehow Gretchen had convinced him to take Michael’s place. Before he knew it, ‘Uncle’ Dean was sitting in the petite chair, trying to balance a tiny teacup in his hand and make polite conversation with a stuffed rabbit. Unfortunately, Sam had the pictures to prove it.

“I still don’t believe that Foxy’s the disciplinarian of you guys,” Dean grinned. Unbelievable or not, it was true. Of the fathers in the family, Mulder was the only one who had any backbone when it came to their daughters.

“Our Fox has hidden depths,” Walter said proudly. 

“Or maybe he’s just so used to thumbing his nose at authority that he’s the most effective at maintaining it,” Dana said dryly. She walked up to Sam and linked her arm through his. “And how are you feeling, Sam?”

“The itching started a little bit ago,” Sam admitted, trying gamely to smile. “That means the party’s about to get started.”

“We were about to take a look,” Lenny added.

“Sounds like a good idea,” She gave Dean a comforting glance. “I’m sure he’s fine. The progression is just like you described.”

Dean swallowed heavily. “Yeah, I know.”

Soon, Lenny was ushering all of them into his home.

Dr. Goodman was Native American on his mother’s side and therefore entitled to a portion of the tribe’s casino earnings. The Winchester’s friend, Caleb, had assisted Lenny’s tribe by bringing down a skinwalker that had been terrorizing them and, as a result, Lenny had become immersed in the world of hunting. Since Lenny had a pronounced limp and a heart condition, he couldn’t do any actual hunting himself, so instead dedicated his resources to creating a hunter’s clinic of sorts. The top two floors of the renovated farmhouse he lived in looked perfectly normal, but there was a small state-of-the-art clinic in the basement, funded in large by Lenny’s casino money. Thankfully, the Winchesters had only needed it for Sam’s prenatal exams.

Within minutes, Sam was on the clinic’s lone exam table, his feet in the stirrups. Dean stood by his brother’s head. It made him nervous to see Dana and Lenny both looking in-between Sam’s legs, but he wasn’t too eager to take a look himself either.

“The perineum does look a little red, but other than that, everything looks perfectly normal,” Dana declared as she straightened. “How’s the itching, Sam?”

”Starting to get irritating,” Sam admitted, squirming as he lay on the table. He grinned up at Dean. “Reminds me of the time you put itching powder in my clothes.”

Dean blushed at the way Lenny snickered and Dana’s eyebrows rose. “Well, Sammy deserved it,” he mumbled.

“There are some topical ointments we could use that might give you some relief,” Dana offered. “We’d just need to make certain that it’s cleaned off before the birth so that there’s no risk of getting any in the baby’s eyes.”

Sam considered, but then just shook his head. “No thanks. The itchy part’s deep inside anyway. I don’t think it would do any good.”

“So what do we do now?” Dean asked.

Dana shrugged. “We wait.”

They’d discussed with her the possibility of a Cesarean section, but ultimately felt it wouldn’t be needed. Since Sam’s body would likely make the same transition that Dean’s had, the surgery seemed an unnecessary risk.

“Great,” Dean muttered.

“Oh, quit complaining,” Lenny chastised him. “Babies are notorious about coming when they’re good and ready, this ain’t no different.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now, Sam here’s got a workout to look forward to in a few hours and should probably fortify himself.” He looked at the brothers. “Unless you ate on the way here?”

Sam’s stomach growled before either Winchester could answer.

“I guess I hustled us out of the house before we had a chance,” Dean admitted sheepishly. “All I could think about was getting Sam here before anything happened.”

“You weren’t the only one,” Sam added. “I’m not a masochist, Dean. I saw what you went through in the back of that car; I had no intention of having the same experience.”

“That’s perfectly understandable,” Dana assured them. “I’ll admit that it went through my mind when I started labor with Gretchen.”

Lenny led them back upstairs, where he had a big pot of beef barley soup simmering. Walter joined them and they were in the middle of making sandwiches when John arrived.

“Everything okay?” The eldest Winchester asked when he came into the house.

“It’s fine,” Sam told him. “I’m right on track for having the baby in the morning.”

John looked quixotically at Dean.

“Itching started,” Dean explained succinctly.

“Ah,” John nodded his head and was a lot more relaxed as he joined them at the table. “Mike’s all set at Liddy’s. I promised you’d call him before he went to bed.”

Dean swallowed heavily as he nodded. They’d been away from Michael before, but the only time they’d both been gone was when they’d gone to New Mexico for the conception of their second child. John had stayed with their son, so it had been easier to be parted from him.

Dinner was lively, as the others did their best to distract the brothers from their worry about the impending birth. Dana and Walter regaled them with stories about raising three little girls and John embarrassed his boys by telling tales from their childhood. For Sammy’s sake, Dean did his best to let their efforts work, but he couldn’t help but notice how his brother just shredded his sandwich with nervous fingers and stirred at his soup.

Restless, Dean insisted on clearing the table when the meal was over. He took a load of dishes into the kitchen and leaned heavily on the counter, trying to get some sort of equilibrium. A soft sound alerted him that someone followed him in, so he wasn’t too startled to feel his father’s warm hand on his shoulder.

“You okay, son?”

Dean sighed and turned around. “Yeah, I’m good.”

John took a deep look into Dean’s eyes and chuckled. “You’re a better liar than Sam, but you can’t bullshit me.” His expression grew sympathetic. “You never did like to see your brother in pain.”

“I know he’ll be all right,” Dean stated, not looking his father in the eyes. “I trust Dana and Lenny. He’s not going to have the same problems that I did.”

His father leaned against the counter next to him. “You’re a man of action; it’s not easy for you to stand by and let someone you love take a risk. I’m actually still surprised you let Sammy go through with this.” He winked at Dean. “I kept expecting you to pull a fast one and find a way to rub the idol yourself.”

“I was going to,” Dean admitted, almost shyly. “But he used the eyes on me.”

“Yeah, that’d do it,” John nodded. 

“And it makes sense,” Dean continued. “I got to experience the wonders of birth, it’s only fair that Sam gets a chance too.”

“The wonders of birth, huh?” His father looked at him skeptically. “That sounds like a Hallmark card more than it does you.”

Dean shrugged. “What can I say? Sammy’s rubbing off on me.”

“All right,” John accepted the explanation. “So what else is bothering you?”

“What do you mean?”

John’s voice got firmer. “Don’t even try, Dean. I’m not some blonde in a bar; I’m your father and I know when you’re giving me a line.”

Dean sighed and resigned himself to telling the truth. “It’s just that this kid didn’t grow inside of me.”

“And?”

“And what if I don’t love him the same?” Dean admitted. Ashamed at his thought, he couldn’t look at his dad.

John did something he hadn’t done since Dean was Michael’s age. He reached over and gently gripped Dean’s chin, lifting his son’s face up to look him in the eye.

“Dean, I’m going to reveal one of the great secrets of parenthood,” John stated solemnly. “You don’t love your kids the same way.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. John chuckled at his expression and patted Dean’s cheek before dropping his hand.

“Oh, you love ‘em the same amount,” he clarified. “You just don’t love them the same way. Think about it a minute. You and Sammy are different people, doesn’t it make sense that we’d relate differently?”

“Yeah, but. . . .” Dean shuffled his feet.

“But nothing,” John said firmly. “I love you both equally, but we connect differently, we have different types of relationships. You’re my solid right hand. You never waver, never doubt. I know that I can count on you to put family first.” His smile was gentle. “Sammy’s my storm cloud. He shakes things loose and raises questions I wish to hell he’d never thought of, but I can count on him to watch your back.”

“So different isn’t exactly a bad thing,” Dean replied slowly.

“No, not at all,” John assured him. “Besides, most fathers don’t have the opportunity you had with Michael, being pregnant with him. Of course it won’t be the same with this child.” His smile was sad and a little rueful. “You’ll be just like the rest of us fathers.”

“And let me add that it only makes as much difference as you want it to,” a quiet voice stated. The Winchesters looked up to find that Walter Skinner had joined them. “Biologically speaking, Hannah and Annabelle are mine, but that doesn’t mean that I love Gretchen any less. Alex adores all three girls, even though he didn’t father any of them in the traditional sense.”

“I think you’ll find that once you hold the baby, it won’t matter,” John said quietly. “He’ll be your son and that’ll be all that counts.”

Dean nodded. Not only was the conversation itself was a relief, but he was thankful that the other men hadn’t judged him for his doubts.

“Hey,” Sam’s voice proceeded him into the room. “Dean, we better call now if we want to talk to Michael before he goes to bed.”

“You go on,” John said. “We’ll finish up here.”

Dean nodded. “Thanks, Dad. Good night. Good night, Walter.”

“Good night?” Sam asked. “Dean, it’s not even eight o’clock. That’s Michael’s bedtime, not ours.”

“It is tonight,” Dean told him. “You’re going to need your rest.” 

He took his brother’s elbow and ushered him from the room, much to John and Walter’s amusement. Sam was usually the more stubborn of the brothers, but Dean had his moments and they usually involved Sam’s well-being. He marched Sam past the dining room, stopping long enough to say good night to the others and assure them that they’d wake everyone up if Sam needed anything during the night. Then it was up the stairs and to the guest room they’d been given. Once inside, Dean shut the door and got Sam seated comfortably on the bed before he dug out his cell phone.

“You do know that once the baby’s born, your mother henning pass is expired, right?” Sam questioned him. 

Looking at his brother’s expression, Dean couldn’t decide if Sam was irritated with him or amused. Either way, it didn’t really matter.

“Then I better make the most of it, huh?” Dean asked slyly.

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean held up his hand. He’d dialed Liddy’s number and she’d just picked up. “Hey, Liddy, it’s Dean.”

“Dean, it’s so good to hear from you,” she greeted him. “How’s Sam?”

“He’s fine. They’re thinking the baby will come tomorrow,” Dean summarized for her. “How’s Mikey doing?” He grinned, hearing his son in the background. “Is he driving you nuts asking about his brother?” 

“He is awfully anxious,” she admitted. “And he’d love to talk to you both.”

“Put him on,” Dean suggested. He gestured for Sam to lean close and held up the cell phone so they could both hear.

“DeeDee?” Mikey’s voice came through loud and clear. “Is brother here yet?”

“No, not yet,” Dean replied, grinning ear to ear. Michael had Sam’s persistence all right. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Michael’s sigh was clearly audible.

“Hey, it won’t be long now,” Sam spoke into the phone. “You’ll just have to be patient.”

“I know. Miss Liddy says that having a baby is like baking a cobber,” Michael said.

Dean snorted. This ought to be good. “Really? How’s that?”

“You put all the ‘gredients together and put it in the oven,” Michael explained. “And then you got to wait until it cooks through. Miss Liddy says that babies take longer than cobblers ‘cause they’re more competated, but if you take them out too soon, they’re all mushy and that’s no good. So I gots to be patient cause I don’t want a mushy brother.”

“Right,” Sam was choking back laughter. “Mushy brothers are just no fun at all.”

He was looking at Dean when he said it. Dean growled softly and gently kicked his brother’s shin.

“Look, Mikey, it’s getting pretty close to bedtime,” he hinted. He loved talking to his son, but it was unfair to get him off his schedule and leave poor Liddy to deal with the fallout.

“It’s my turn, DeeDee,” Michael chirped. “Miss Liddy had the book I wanted, so I’s all ready.”

Bedtime meant story time at the Winchester house. When it was Sam’s turn, he read from whatever book Michael picked out. When it was Dean’s turn, he preferred to tell a story and they typically included things like dragons that could blow smoke rings or dogs that could talk. Recently, however, Michael had insisted on taking his own turn and would read to his fathers. They were simple books as yet, but the child was still way ahead of the curve for his age when it came to reading ability and comprehension.

As he listened to his son make his way through ‘Guess How Much I love You,’ Dean had to clear his throat a couple of times. Sammy took his hand and squeezed it, but Dean didn’t dare look at his brother. He wasn’t ashamed of how much he loved his son, but getting teary-eyed over it still made him uncomfortable.

“Good job,” Dean complimented the child when Michael finished. 

“Yeah, you’re really good at that,” Sam encouraged their son. “You’ll be all ready to read to your brother when he gets here.”

“Will that be tomorrow?” Michael asked.

“We think so,” Dean answered. “And you know what? Tomorrow will come faster if you go to sleep now.”

That got another big sigh. “All right. G’night, DeeDee.”

“Good night, Mikey.” Dean replied warmly. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Michael chirped back. “Night, DaSa. Love you.”

“I love you too, Michael,” Sam responded. “Sleep tight.”

The conversation wasn’t quite done yet, though. “I wanna say good night to my brother.”

“Okay, hang on.” Dean held the phone up to Sam’s stomach and then spoke loudly when he instructed his son, “Go ahead.”

They both heard their son’s voice as he talked to the baby and grinned at each other. If Michael’s attitude was a harbinger of things to come, their children would be every bit as close as they had been while growing up.

When Michael finished, Dean brought the phone up and a last round of good nights was said all around. The room seemed much smaller and dimmer after the connection was broken.

Dean stood, determined to fight off the feeling of melancholy that threatened to descend. “Come on, let’s take a shower.”

“Don’t really need one,” Sam shrugged.

“Did that sound like I was making a request?” Dean complained. “Get your ass in gear; if I’ve only got one night left on my mother henning pass, I intend to make the most of it.”

In truth, Dean had every intention of taking care of Sam even after the baby was born. He knew just how depleted his brother would be, even if Sam didn’t know that yet, though. 

Dean’s comment had the desired effect. Sam smiled and with help, stood.

“Your wish is my command, oh mighty fussy one,” Sam stated solemnly, but his eyes twinkled.

“You love it; you big geek,” Dean huffed. Inwardly, he was smiling at the success of his ploy. “Bathroom. March.”

Despite the crispness of his orders, Dean was gentle as he helped Sam get undressed. Dean stripped himself quickly while the water warmed and soon the two of them were under the shower’s relaxing spray.

When Dean had been pregnant with Michael, Sam had been obsessed with washing him. Now Dean understood why. The changes the pregnancy brought made Sam’s body a mystery. Washing him, touching every part of his lover’s skin, helped them reconnect even as it allowed Dean to feel a part of the miracle taking place.

“We can say goodbye to sleep for awhile,” Dean commented as he sluiced the washcloth down Sam’s back.

“Mmmmm. . . .” Sam murmured. “And hello to diapers.”

“Ah, the aroma of regurgitated baby formula,” Dean added.

“Three loads of laundry a day,” Sam countered.

Dean grinned. “Hunting for a clean pacifier.”

Sam turned to face him, his expression full of anticipation. “I can’t wait.”

“Me too neither,” Dean admitted. He pulled Sam close, reveling in his brother’s warm skin, slippery from the soap and water. “I wonder who this kid will piss on first.”

“Hey,” Sam slapped Dean’s arm, resentful even after four years. “You could have warned me; you were the more experienced baby wrangler.”

Dean’s laugh was low and dirty. “Some things have to be learned the hard way. Besides, you were the college boy. I figured you’d know that newborn males and fresh air can lead to a little fountain action. Didn’t they cover that in biology class or something?”

“No,” Sam replied. “They didn’t.”

“You should have seen the look on your face.” Dean knew it was unwise, but he couldn’t help but snicker. “That kind of thing’s a turn on for some people, you know.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You’re a sick man, you know that. . . and I must be sick too, because I love you anyway.”

“Damn straight,” Dean growled.

“Funny choice of words,” Sam teased. “Considering who you’re showering with.”

Dean leaned forward and kissed him soundly. “Come on, Einstein. We don’t want to use up all the hot water.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Sam agreed reluctantly.

“Especially since the two doctors we’re counting on taking care of you tomorrow are in the house,” Dean commented sagely as he turned off the water.

Sam snorted. “Come on, Dana and Lenny wouldn’t exact retribution over a little cold water.”

Dean helped his brother out of the shower. “No, but we want to keep them happy.”

Sam was patient as Dean dried them both, spending a lot of time on Sam’s hair. When the job was done to Dean’s satisfaction and they both had on t-shirts and boxers, Sam let himself be led to the bedroom.

“There’s no way I’m going to be able to sleep tonight,” Sam complained as Dean walked him over to the bed. “It’s like all those Christmas mornings we never had rolled into one.”

John had tried., but it had been imperative to their lifestyle for the boys to be able to differentiate between what was real and what was just a fairy tale. Santa Claus hadn’t been part of the Winchester’s upbringing after Mary died.

“I think you’ll be surprised,” Dean cajoled. He crawled onto the bed and patted the empty spot next to him. “Just come lay by me for a few minutes.”

Sam sighed. “Okay, but only because this is your last night to fuss.”

He joined Dean on the bed and soon was tucked into his brother’s arms. Dean immediately started carding his fingers through Sam’s damp hair.

“This time tomorrow you’ll be holding the baby,” Dean commented.

“Yeah, nine months seems like forever, but now that it’s here. . . .” Sam’s voice trailed off. “What’s it like? Childbirth, I mean?”

Dean thought about it. It wasn’t like they hadn’t talked about it before. He didn’t want to lie to Sammy, but the night before his brother was likely to give birth hardly seemed the time to explain again the rigors of the process.

“It hurts,” he finally admitted. “I’ve had a lot worse, though. The not knowing what was happening was the hardest part. That and my body being out of my control.”

“It seemed to know what to do,” Sam suggested.

Dean snorted. “Well, I wish it would have told me what the hell was going on,” he barely repressed a shudder. It had been downright creepy to have his body straining instinctively to birth Michael, all the while not knowing if it was hurting the baby or not.

“Man, this conversation is not helping me to sleep,” Sam complained.

Dean refrained from pointing out that Sam had started it. Instead, he renewed his stroking of Sam’s hair. “Once upon a time there was a knight named Sir Dean. He and his trusty sidekick, Squire Sam, traveled around the country saving people. Well, Sir Dean saved people. Squire Sam pretty much squealed like a girl.”

“A bedtime story?” Sam looked at Dean incredulously. “Don’t you think I’m a little old for that?”

Dean poked him, but gently. “I’m not telling it to you; I’m telling it to the baby.”

“Yeah,” Sam drawled. “R-i-i-i-ight.”

But he snuggled closer to Dean anyway.

“As I was saying, Sir Dean traveled the county on his sturdy black steed, saving people. His tag-along little brother, Squire Sam, always trailed behind,” Dean continued the story. “One day, Sir Dean turned around and his little brother wasn’t so little anymore. Squire Sam didn’t want to fight monsters anymore and he left.”

“I don’t know if I like this story,” Sam murmured in a sleepy voice. 

Dean kissed his brother on the top of the head. “Patience, Grasshopper.”

“So Sir Dean figured he could fight the good fight without Squire Sam,” Dean continued. “The people he saved were always glad of his help, a few were happy to invite him into their bed, but no one ever asked him to stay. It took Sir Dean a while to figure it out, but he eventually realized he was lonely without Squire Sam. His pride kept him from saying anything, though, and they spent four years apart.”

“Still not liking the story,” Sam complained.

“Hush,” Dean smoothed. “One day, Sir Dean had to go against the biggest, baddest monster there was. None of the people he’d saved in the past were willing to help him.”

“Rat bastards,” Sam muttered.

“But just when he thought the Big Bad was gonna smash him like a bug, Sire Dean realized that he was no longer alone,” Dean continued triumphantly. “Sir Sam came back, a squire no more. So with his brother at his side instead of behind him, Sir Dean slew the monster.”

Sam sighed happily. “That’s better.”

Dean kissed Sam on the temple. “And the best part of the story is that when Sir Dean asked Sir Sam to stay, Sir Sam said yes.”

“Good,” Sam curled into Dean’s warmth, half asleep. “Did they live happily ever after?”

“We’re working on it,” Dean replied, continuing to pet his brother until Sam finally drifted off. “We’re working on it.”

Dean wasn’t surprised that Sam was able to sleep. Even if his pregnancy had seemed charmed, Sam was still pregnant and Dean well remembered the toll that took on the body. He was surprised, however, that he was able to sleep. More than Sam, Dean knew what the next day would bring. He was excited for the birth of his child, but for Sam’s sake dreaded the actual process.

It was dampness that woke him.

“What the hell?” Dean shrugged out of Sam’s embrace, careful not to wake his brother. That became a moot point, however, when he patted the sheets and discovered that they were damp.

“Oh, crap.” Dean shut his eyes, giving himself over for just a moment to sheer, unadulterated panic. Only a moment, though, and then he was once more firmly in control of himself.

“Sam, come on, you’ve got to wake up,” Dean gently shook Sam’s shoulder. “Wakey, wakey, Sammy.”

“Wha-?” Sam blinked up at him. “What’re you doing? I thought you wanted me to rest?”

Dean took Sam’s hand and placed it on a wet spot. “Feel that? Your water broke.”

Sam’s eyes got big. Without saying anything, he stuck his other hand down his shorts. Dean could track its progress through the fabric of Sam’s boxers. After Sam touched between his legs, his eyes got even wider.

“Feels weird, I know,” Dean said sympathetically. “But it’ll go away once it gets the job done.”

Dean got up and headed towards the bathroom, stripping out of his damp clothes as he went. He came back with a wet washcloth and towel. Silently, the brothers cleaned up. Sam was slower to dress, so Dean took the opportunity to pick up his cell phone.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked. “It’s a little premature to call Michael.”

“I’m not calling Mikey,” Dean replied. “I’m calling Dana.”

“Dana?” Sam demanded, pausing as he pulled a t-shirt over his head. “Dean, she’s right down the hall, why not just go get her?”

”And leave you alone, are you nuts?” Dean looked at him incredulously. “No way.”

“Dean, that’s not really necessary-.”

“Says you,” Dean interrupted. “Besides, I promised Mikey.”

When Dana picked up, Dean filled her in. She promised to wake Walter and alert Lenny and John.

“Head on down to the exam room,” she instructed. “I’ll throw on some clothes and meet you there.”

Sam protested as Dean helped him out the door and down the hall. Dean ignored him and kept an arm firmly around his brother’s waist. Sam’s face was sheet white, which in Dean’s opinion was a far better barometer of Sam’s well-being than his words. They saw Walter come out of the room he shared with Dana and he and Dean exchanged solemn nods.

The first contraction hit halfway down the stairs. Sam gasped and that was warning enough for Dean. He stopped and braced himself to take more of the pregnant man’s weight.

“You okay, Sammy?” Dean asked when he felt his brother relax.

“That was. . . interesting,” Sam panted.

“And there’s more of that to come,” Dean responded. His grip on Sam tightened as he urged his brother to move. “We need to get you downstairs.”

The Winchesters got moving again and within moments the brothers were on the first floor. Their father had been sleeping on the pull-out couch and, alerted by the noise, met them at the bottom of the stairs.

“Sammy?” He asked, expression full of worry.

“We’re having a baby,” Sam answered him.

“It’s only been seven hours since the itching started,” John protested after taking a quick look at the clock. “He’s ahead of schedule.”

“That’s no big surprise,” Dean stated as he guided Sam over to the second stairway, the one that lead to the basement. “Sammy’s always been an overachiever.”

They got Sam downstairs without further incident. By the time Dana and Lenny came in, Sam was on the exam table with Dean holding his hand.

“Sorry, guys,” Sam apologized sheepishly. “Didn’t mean to get you up in the middle of the night.”

“Don’t worry about it, kiddo,” Lenny reassured him. “Dana’s so pretty that she doesn’t need any beauty sleep and I’m so ugly that it wouldn’t do any good anyway.”

“He had one contraction already,” Dean stated before Dana could say anything.

“So soon?” Lenny sounded a little dismayed.

“We found with Dean that the birth process is extremely accelerated,” Dana explained and then turned to the brothers. “How long ago was it?”

Sam opened his mouth to answer, but gasped again instead. Dean looked at his watch.

“Six minutes,” he stated tersely.

Dean didn’t protest as Sam’s grip on his hand tightened painfully.

“Hang in there, Sammy,” Dean crooned. “It’ll be over in a minute.”

When the contraction finished, Dana and Lenny conducted a quick exam. Dean remained by Sam’s head, stroking his brother’s hair.

“He’s completely dilated,” Lenny’s voice was full of amazement. “I know you said it would be fast, but this is incredible. Just a few hours ago, he didn’t even have a vagina.”

“I know a lot of women who’d envy you two,” Dana teased the brothers. “Including me. I was in labor with Gretchen for 19 hours. This is going to be lightning fast in comparison.”

“Not feeling quite so lucky at the moment,” Sam admitted with embarrassment.

“You will,” she patted his leg fondly. “Now, Sam, remember the breathing exercises and just try to relax.”

Sam nodded tensely. Dean was still holding his brother’s hand and gently stroked his thumb across the back of it. Sam glanced over at him and gave him a little smile. More importantly, he relaxed.

Another contraction hit and then the real work began. Dean didn’t recall his own labor all that clearly. He remembered pain, of course, and fear. His body being so wildly out of his control had been a real panic button for Dean. Above all else, though, he remembered Sam’s presence. Sam’s soft voice had kept Dean anchored and being held in his brother’s arms had reminded him of the love that had brought about the conception of their child in the first place. He couldn’t imagine going through the ordeal without his brother’s help.

Dean was determined to be as big a source of comfort to Sam as Sam had been to him. Words weren’t normally Dean’s thing, but in these circumstances, they flowed freely. He told Sam how brave he was, that he was going a great job and, above all else, how much he loved him. Dean liked to think it was working. Certainly Sam seemed to be significantly less afraid than Dean remembered being.

As much as his ego would like for him to take all the credit for Sam’s calm, Dean realized that he couldn’t. Sam had an advantage that had been unavailable to Dean. Namely, someone who knew what she was doing. Dana stayed with them, an island of calm, explaining to Sam about what was happening and what to expect next. Lenny was there too, but hadn’t given birth himself and couldn’t speak with the authority that Dana could on the subject.

Another difference between Sam’s labor and Dean’s with Michael was that John wasn’t there. He stuck his head in from time to time, but didn’t linger. After getting a good look at his dad’s face, Dean understood why. John Winchester didn’t like seeing his youngest son in pain any more than Dean did. In true Winchester fashion, they’d never talked about John delivering Dean’s baby. Now that he was experiencing having to watch while Sam went through the same thing, Dean couldn’t help but wonder how traumatic the experience had been for his father.

Dana might claim that Sam’s labor was going much faster than was normal, but it still felt like forever to Dean. Sam’s gasps of pain turned into groans and, eventually, muted shouts. Dean kept hold of Sam’s hand through it all, although as his brother’s grip got tighter and tighter, he had to switch off from left to right. All that writing Sammy did for school left him with very strong hands.

“Dean?” Sam asked at one point.

“Yeah, Sammy.”

“You were willing to do this again?” Sam panted. “You’re nuts.”

Dean chuckled. “Never said I wasn’t.” He leaned over and kissed Sam sloppily. “But it’s worth it, you’ll see.”

Given how quickly the labor was progressing, using any sort of drug to help manage pain was out of the question. Dana had discussed that with them earlier, so it was no surprise. Dean was a little concerned, however, when Dana approached Sam holding a pair of scissors.

“What’s that for?” Dean demanded. In-between pushes, Sam lay limply on the table, breathing heavily.

“I think Sam needs an episiotomy,” Dana explained.

Dean frowned. He hated to think of his brother going through more than he already was. “What for?”

“A vagina is a very flexible organ,” Dana stated matter-of-factly, ignoring Dean’s wince at the V-word. “But it has its limits. Given that Sam’s is essentially unused, it’s particularly tight. It will be more comfortable for him to cut it instead of it being ripped during the course of the delivery.”

Dean flinched as he remembered feeling like he was going to tear in two and then ripping. He didn’t like the idea of anyone cutting Sam, but if it was necessary to spare him that particular sensation, then it’d be worth it.

“We have every reason to expect that Sam’s body will undergo the same healing process that yours did, Dean,” Dana went on to say. “This should heal too and, in the meantime, will make things go a little easier for Sam.”

Dean looked down at his brother. Sam closed his eyes and nodded, so Dean turned to Dana and gave her permission. “Do it.”

Dana did the episiotomy between pushes and Dean bit his lip as Sam cried out. He felt like such an idiot, for letting Sam go through with the birth. Dean would have given anything to be the one in pain instead of his brother.

After the episiotomy was accomplished, the labor progressed even more quickly. Soon, but still far too long for Dean’s peace of mind, Dana could see the baby’s head.

“He’s crowning, you’re almost there, Sam,” she called out. For once, her normally serene voice reflected her excitement. “I need a good, sustained push.”

Dean was vaguely aware of Lenny moving around in the background. Mostly, though, all of his attention was riveted to Sam. His brother’s face had that look of determination that Dean knew so well. For once, though, Sam’s infamous stubbornness came in handy. Sam groaned loudly, but pushed through his pain.

“The head is out,” Dana’s voice trembled.

“Good job, Sammy,” Dean leaned close in order to encourage his brother. “You’re almost done.”

Sam nodded and starting pushing again.

“More. . . more. . . more,” Dana instructed. “There, he’s out!”

With a gasp, Sam fell back against the bed. Dean clutched his brother’s hand and his eyes filled as he watched Dana tend their newborn son, who’d started to cry even before she suctioned his mouth out. 

Dean kissed Sam on the temple. “God, Sammy, he’s beautiful!”

Dana brought the baby to them. She’d cleaned off the worst of the gunk, but the umbilical cord was still attached.

“Here’s your son,” she said joyfully as she placed the infant in Sam’s arms. “Dean’s right, he’s gorgeous.”

Dean didn’t know what was more incredible; their son or his brother’s face as he held the child for the first time. Sam looked up at him, his eyes shining and Dean thought his heart would burst right out from his chest, singing, thereby ruining his tough guy image forever. Sam pressed forward as Dean leaned down. They met somewhere in the middle and kissed.

Lenny brought them both down to earth.

“Sam, I need to get this started,” Lenny stated, almost apologetically.

‘This’ was an IV and it was attached to a bag of blood.

Dean swallowed heavily. In his joy over the birth of their son, he’d forgotten about the danger of the bleeding.

Dana saw the look on his face and put a comforting hand on his arm. “We’re treating the blood loss aggressively, Dean. Sam’s in no danger of bleeding to death. You didn’t and we weren’t nearly as prepared as we are this time.”

Dean nodded, but was far from convinced. The baby wailed, as though he could sense his father’s concern.

“Dean, I’m okay,” Sam assured him. One of his fingers was held in the baby’s tenuous grip and his face had an expression of wonder on it that had every appearance of being permanent.

“It’s time to cut the cord,” Dana declared. “Dean, do you want to do the honors?”

Dean Winchester had been handling all sorts of sharp implements since he was five years old. Even so, his hand shook as he cut the umbilical cord that connected Sam to their son. Sam smiled encouragement at him and Dean regretted that he hadn’t paid more attention when he’d given birth. He’d simply had no idea that it was such a profound experience.

A noise from the door got the brothers’ attention. They both looked over to see their father looking in and, just beyond him, Walter Skinner. Dana’s husband hadn’t been needed during the birth and obviously had been keeping his old Marine buddy company.

“Come in and meet your grandson,” Sam called to his dad.

John didn’t need to be asked twice. He walked to the bed eagerly, his eyes riveted to the baby. Sam shifted the infant in his arms so that his father could get a better look. John stroked one finger reverently against the newborn’s head.

“Congratulations, boys. I think you have another keeper here.” John cleared his throat. “Well done.”

“All right. Dean, John, I need to assess the baby and I’d like you to help,” Dana instructed briskly. “Let’s step to the next room and you can give him his first bath.”

“No way,” Dean replied flatly. “I won’t leave Sammy.”

“Lenny will stay with him and Walter will be a back-up,” Dana cajoled. “We completely anticipate being able to control Sam’s blood loss, but Walter will come get me if there’s any trouble. I’m just a few steps away.”

“I’m. Not. Leaving. Sam,” Dean repeated forcefully. “I get that I need to stay out of the way so you can help him. This is a big enough room that we can work with the baby in the corner and you won’t trip over us.”

Dana looked at Dean’s face and must have read his determination there. She gave a small sigh and nodded before sending Walter to the next room to retrieve the supplies. 

Dean kissed Sam gently as his brother relinquished the baby to him. “I’ll be right over there, Sammy.”

“I’m okay, Dean,” Sam assured him, looking a little pale, but incredibly happy.

For the next few minutes, Dean split his attention between his son and his lover. It didn’t take Dana long to do her assessment and the things she needed to get done. Then it was Dean’s turn. Taking care of the baby once it was born was something he’d missed during his own delivery. Dean thought he could never love someone as much as he did Michael. He was wrong. As he washed his newborn son, Dean felt love and tenderness well up in his heart. He didn’t love this child less because he’d grown in Sam instead of Dean. Now that the baby was in his arms, the very notion that he might seemed downright insane.

Dean looked across the basin at his father and waited until John met his gaze before speaking. “You were right, it doesn’t matter.”

John just nodded, never having been much for saying I-told-you-so. “Good.”

To Dean’s eyes, this second child was longer than Michael had been, which was confirmed when Dana did the measurements.

“That figures,” Dean spoke directly to the baby. The newborn had stopped crying now that his bath was over and he was wrapped in a soft, warm blanket. “The man who gave birth to you is a giant.”

“Look at the hands on him,” Dana commented.

“Big hands are good for bow hunting,” John stated, his approval obvious in both tone and expression.

Dana shot him an exasperated look. “I was thinking more that it would help him play the piano.”

Dean let the good-natured argument wash over him. As he stood holding the baby, he swayed from side to side, but kept a cautious eye on Sam. His brother was talking to Lenny, but when he noticed Dean watching, he waved.

Suddenly the length of the room was far too far away from his brother. When Dean started to move closer, however, Dana’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“Give us a minute to do another check,” Dana requested softly. “You may not want to watch.”

Dean watched anyway. At least, he did until Dana twitched back the blanket covering Sam’s legs. At the first sight of bright red, he whirled around.

“This is looking good,” he heard Dana state in a cheerful voice. “Sam, I believe you’ve already expelled the uterus. The blood loss hasn’t been bad at all and we should see it become even less now.”

Dean closed his eyes and let out a long drawn-out sigh. He felt tears of relief threaten and dropped his head in the hopes that no one would notice how close he was to losing control. He should have known better. There was one person who always was aware of Dean’s emotional state, sometimes more than he was himself.

“Hey, Dean, come here,” Sam called out to him.

Since that was what he was longing to do, Dean happily complied. He stepped over to his brother, relieved to see Sam alert. He carefully handed over the baby.

“I think it’s time for this young man to have his first meal.” Dana handed Sam a bottle.

It took a little coaxing, but the baby took the bottle. An audible sigh went around the room and Sam’s happy smile was almost bigger than the baby.

“We’re going to give you a little bit of privacy,” Dana stated, fixing an eagle eye on the others until they got the hint and moved for the door. 

“The baby is healthy as a horse and Sam’s doing fine too. Yell if anything changes,” Lenny instructed. “Otherwise, we’ll be back in a little while to check how things are going.”

Dean hardly noticed them go. He ran his fingers over the baby’s soft hair, studying his son’s wrinkled face carefully. “Damn.”

“What?” Sam was startled by Dean’s soft curse.

“He doesn’t look like a Scott,” Dean explained.

Sam scrutinized the newborn and sighed. “He doesn’t look like a Christopher either.”

“Well,” Dean said after thinking about it for a minute. “We could always go with Mikey’s idea.”

Sam snorted. “We are not naming our son Egon.” He shook his head in disgust. “You never should have let him watch ‘Ghostbusters.’”

“It’s a classic,” Dean protested. “And if you don’t like that name, do you have a better idea?”

“Actually, I was thinking of Daniel,” Sam suggested.

“Daniel,” Dean repeated. “Danny. Dan. Dan the Man.” His lips pursed as he thought about it. “I like it. You never mentioned that one before, though. Can I ask where it came from?”

Sam’s grin was wry. “Because Daniel stood in the lion’s den.”

Dean grinned in response. “Yeah. That seems pretty appropriate for a Winchester.”

“Okay, Daniel it is,” Sam took the bottle from the baby and held it up. It was already half gone.

“C’mere, Danny,” Dean took the baby from his brother and expertly put the child over his shoulder. He gently patted the newborn’s back, trying to get him to burp.

“So what about a middle name?” Sam asked as he watched. “Is there anything you like? Anything but Egon, that is.”

Dean thought about it as he patted the baby. Once his son gave up his first burp, he returned the child to Sam’s arms.

“When we were talking about Michael’s name, you said that you didn’t want him to be named after Jessica, because that was our past.”

“Yeah,” Sam prompted when Dean’s voice trailed off. “Do you want his middle name to be Jesse?”

Dean shook his head. “No, actually I was thinking of James.” He cleared his throat. “Pastor Jim was family. He gave us a sanctuary when we needed it, helped keep Dad sane those first few years after Mom died.”

Sam’s expression grew solemn. “He died trying to save your life.”

During the demon fight, Father Jim had been the first to die. It was oddly fitting, as Jim had been one of the first to embrace John Winchester as a hunter and was one of the only hunters that John would trust with his sons’ safety. He’d been a big part of Sam and Dean’s lives, growing up, and his loss still stung. The only comfort the Winchesters had was that Jim had died quickly.

“I think giving Daniel his name would be a fitting way to honor Jim,” Sam said softly.

Dean nodded. Enough years had gone by that the pain from Jim — and Caleb’s — death didn’t hurt quite so much. They couldn’t honor everyone who’d helped them in the long journey to bring the demon down. If they tried, then their son’s name probably would be a couple of sentences long. It seemed fitting that Jim, one of their oldest and truest friends, stood in for all the others.

Sam looked down at their son. “Daniel James Winchester, welcome to the world.”

“You think we should call Mikey?” Dean asked after a couple of minutes of contented silence.

“Nah,” Sam answered after glancing at the clock. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“Okay, but when he finds out that we waited until morning,” Dean warned, “you can explain it to him. The two of you can try to out puppy-dog-eye each other.”

Sam’s chuckle was interrupted by a yawn.

“If anybody’s going to get some sleep, it ought to be you,” Dean scolded. 

“You’re not supposed to fuss after the baby’s born,” Sam complained, but he didn’t protest when Dean took the baby from him.

“I never said I’d stop fussing,” Dean gleefully pointed out. “You just can complain about it now.” He grinned when Sam yawned hugely again. “You might want to wait until you’re actually awake, though.”

Sam did something unusual for him; he gave up. Settling down in the bed while Dean burped Daniel again, Sam was soon sound asleep. He didn’t so much as twitch when Dana came in a few minutes later to check on him.

“The bleeding’s virtually stopped,” she whispered hoarsely, moving with care not to wake the sleeping man. “Why don’t you try and get some rest. Lenny and I are going to take turns checking.”

Lenny came in, hefting a cot. He set it down quietly near Sam’s bed. “You need to get some rest too, kiddo.”

Dean nodded, even though he had no intention of laying down. He did, however, settle Daniel into his bassinet. As much as he loved holding his son, Dean recognized that he was tired. His desire to keep Daniel in his arms didn’t hold a candle to the need to keep him safe. Dropping the baby just was not an option.

Dean ended up on a chair next to Sam’s bed, within arm’s reach of the bassinet. He must have drifted off at some point, because he woke when he felt someone draping a blanket over his shoulder.

“What-?” Dean woke with a start. His head had been pillowed on Sam’s bed.

“Just me, son,” John’s gravelly voice assured him. “Can’t have you taking a chill.”

Dean grunted. “Thanks.”

After checking that both Sam and Daniel were still sleeping, Dean let himself drift off again. He knew he’d need the rest.

He was right. By the time it was late enough to call Michael, Daniel had been fed twice. 

“I’m sorry,” Sam commented softly as Dean finished diapering Daniel.

Confused, Dean frowned. “About what?”

“For not realizing how amazing you are.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific, Sammy,” Dean tried to shrug off the complement even as he blushed. “I’m amazing in a whole lot of ways.”

Sam didn’t let his brother deflect the praise. “You gave birth in the back of the car, with only me and Dad to help. Now that I’ve had Daniel, I know more of what you went through and I can’t imagine doing it the way you did.”

Dean finished changing the baby and gently deposited Daniel into his bassinet. After he kissed the infant on the top of the head, he turned to address his brother. “I did what I had to do, Sammy. Nothing amazing about that.”

“We’re going to have to disagree about that,” Sam replied. “I think it’s pretty damn amazing.”

“Well, you’re a geek and a girl,” Dean retorted blandly. “That’s why I keep telling Mickey that I’m the cool daddy.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Speaking of Michael, we should call him.”

Dean looked at his watch. “Yeah, he probably had Liddy up at the crack of dawn.” He dug out his phone and dialed the phone and dialed the number before handing it off to Sam.

“Liddy?” Sam asked. “Hi, it’s Sam.” He paused, obviously listening. “Yeah and everything’s just fine. Michael up yet?” Sam laughed at Liddy’s comment. “Yeah, I suppose that was an unnecessary question.”

Sam gestured for Dean to come closer and held the phone so they both could hear. Michael’s voice came through in the background, loud and joyful, declaring to the world that his brother had finally arrived.

“He’s not mushy, is he, DaSa?” Michael asked when Liddy gave him the phone.

Sam grinned widely. “Not mushy at all. He’s wrinkly and a little red, but definitely not mushy. His name is Daniel.”

“Daniel,” Michael repeated, sounding a lot like Dean when he’d tried out the name. “Did DeeDee take care of you, DaSa? ‘Cause he told me that’s his job.”

“Sure did,” Sam assured him. “We didn’t even need those pillows because he didn’t faint.”

“Your DaSa did real good too,” Dean spoke for the first time. “Only squealed like a girl once or twice.”

Neither father was surprised at the question their son posed next.

“I want to see brother Daniel,” Michael stated. “Can I come see him now?”

“Soon,” Dean assured the little boy. “Your grandpa left already to pick you up. He should be there in about an hour. That gives you plenty of time to have breakfast and get ready.”

“Aw, do I hafta?” Michael complained. “I’m not hungry.”

“Yes,” Sam stated firmly. “I know you’re excited, but you have to be good for Miss Liddy.”

There was a soft female voice in the background and when Michael came back to the phone, he was more enthusiastic. 

“Miss Liddy says I can have cobbler for breakfast,” Michael crowed. “Cause it’s not every day that I get a brother.” 

After exchanging goodbyes, ‘I love yous,’ and admonishments to be good, they signed off. Dean looked at Sam in amusement as he flipped his phone closed.

“Oh, Dad’s in for a fun ride,” Dean commented, eyes twinkling. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Mikey that wound up.”

John loved his grandson, but sometimes had issues with the more casual way he was being raised. It wasn’t that Michael was a spoiled or a difficult child, but he didn’t call either father ‘sir’ and training was out of the question. Thankfully, John knew better than to push either of his sons on the subject.

“Maybe Dad’ll settle him down a bit,” Sam looked at the baby where he slept in the bassinet. “Batten down the hatches, Daniel, because Hurricane Michael’s going to blow in.”

Dean convinced Sam to get some more sleep, but was unable to do so himself. He remembered the day his parents brought Sammy home from the hospital. Even as little as he’d been, Dean remembered knowing how important an event it was. The addition of a brother was a huge life change, especially for a little boy, and Dean was as anxious as Michael for the two brothers to meet.

By the time John arrived with the child, Sam had been moved to a guest room. Going up two flights of stairs had been rough, but both Dean and Walter had helped. Sam was determined that Michael not see him in what was essentially a hospital bed. Even so, it was sheer determination that saw him through the transfer.

Sam was lightly dozing when the Impala’s familiar growl was heard. Dean went to the window and peered out. Sure enough, he could see Michael bouncing in the back seat.

“Okay, I’m going to head him off at the pass,” Dean stated as he moved towards the door. “I know he’s excited, but he’s got to be careful.”

“All right,” Sam agreed readily enough, but then showed his own impatience by adding, “hurry.”

Dean nodded and bent to kiss Sam briefly before heading downstairs to greet their son. It was a good thing he did, because Michael ran into the house like a missile that’d just been launched.

“DeeDee,” Michael called out happily as he threw himself into his father’s arms. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too, you little monkey,” Dean replied and then blew a wet raspberry onto the skin just behind the boy’s ear. Michael giggled and wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck. “Were you good for Miss Liddy and Grandpa?”

“Uh-huh,” Michael nodded enthusiastically, but then his face clouded. “Grandpa made me wait while he ate a piece of cobbler, DeeDee.”

“It was only fair,” John spoke as he entered the house. “Michael was all sugared up; I figured I needed to level the playing field.” His expression grew rueful. “Sorry he stormed into the house like that; he got away from me. That’s one fast kid.”

Dean bit back a smile at the thought of his father needing to fortify himself to deal with a four year-old. My, how things had changed.

“Put me down, DeeDee,” Michael squirmed in his arms. “Want to go see DaSa and brother Daniel.”

Not liking his son’s tone, Dean didn’t comply. “Hmmm. . . is that the way we’re supposed to ask for things?”

Michael stilled. “Oops.” He looked up at Dean through lowered lashes. “Please put me down, DeeDee.”

“That’s better.” Dean set the child on his feet, but took a hold of his arm before Michael could go charging up the stairs. “First, though, remember what we talked about? No jumping on DaSa and be careful of the baby. Danny’s a lot littler than you.”

“I remember, DeeDee,” Michael vowed solemnly. “DaSa’s sore and babies break easier than Miss Liddy’s flower vase.”

“Good boy,” Dean ruffled his son’s hair and offered the boy his hand. Michael readily took it and the two headed up the stairs. Dean was vaguely aware of his father trailing behind. “I know your DaSa’s really anxious to see you and Danny’s been asking about you all morning. Well, he would if he could talk.”

Michael giggled and Dean thought it fitting that his oldest was so joyful when he entered the bedroom and saw the youngest for the first time. Sam had gotten Daniel out of his bassinet and was holding him, smiling encouragement at the little boy. Michael’s mouth was an O of wonder and he tiptoed as they walked fully into the room, still clutching Dean’s hand tightly. 

Dean walked them right up to the bed

“Here’s your new brother,” Sam said quietly, holding the newborn out so Michael could get a good look. “Daniel James Winchester.”

In contrast to his earlier excitement, Michael was subdued as he reached out and with one careful finger, touched the baby. Daniel snuffled and wiggled a little, causing Michael to smile. “He’s really here,” the boy whispered hoarsely.

“Yeah, he really is,” Dean confirmed. “So what do you think of him?”

Michael’s face screwed up as he contemplated his father’s question. “He’s kinda red. You didn’t over cook him, did you, DaSa?”

Sam was obviously biting back a smile. “No. All babies are like that right after they’re born. You were too, you know.”

The incredulous look Michael shot him clearly showed that the boy didn’t believe his father, but Daniel made another baby snuffly noise that distracted him before Michael could voice a protest. He patted the baby carefully on the head. “It’s okay, Danny. I love you no matter what color you are.”

“You want to hold him?” Dean squatted to ask the boy. When Michael enthusiastically nodded, he stood and helped the youngster scramble onto the bed. Sam shifted over to one side and, when Michael was ready, carefully laid the baby into his arms. Both he and Dean helped their oldest learn how to support the infant’s weight and in a few minutes, Michael was holding Daniel all by himself.

They all blinked as a couple of flashes went off.

There was a small crowd at the door, with both Walter and Lenny wielding cameras. After a couple of more pictures, they left the family alone, although John remained. He leaned against the door frame, looking as happy as Dean could remember seeing him.

“Hey, Mikey,” Dean asked, although his eyes never left his father’s face. “Do you think that Danny’s big enough toss around a football yet?”

“No, he’s too little, DeeDee.”

John started at the exchange, but then his eyes met Dean’s and he relaxed. He nodded once at his son before turning to leave the room and his smile was bittersweet.

Dean monitored Michael’s face carefully, looking for any sign of discomfort. Both he and Sam had learned mantras of their own, using the mental exercise to block their own emotions from the boy when it was necessary. Given the lingering discomfort from the childbirth, Sam had taken some painkillers to supplement that technique, not wanting Michael to pick up on any soreness. From the clear expression that Michael wore, it was working.

“I bet there are lots of things you can teach your brother,” Sam stated. “Can you think of a few?”

Michael thought about it for a minute. “I can teach him to throw a ball and say his ABCs,” he stated. “But I might need help teaching him how to count past a hundred.”

“You got it, buddy,” Dean assured him. “Is there anything else you want to teach him?”

“Not to be scared of the monsters under the bed or in the closet,” the little boy explained. “Because they’re a lot more ‘fraid of DeeDee and DaSa than you are of them.”

“That so?” Sam asked with a smile.

“Uh-huh.” Michael nodded so enthusiastically that his bangs flopped into his face. “An’ I’ll teach him that mullet rock beats anemic alternate pop,” Sam rolled his eyes at that, clearly knowing where that particular notion had come from. “An’ that only DeeDee gets to call DaSa ‘Sammy,’ ‘cept sometimes Grandpa, but only if Grandpa’s been good.”

Dean was grinning like a fool, but didn’t care. “Sounds like you’ve got all the basics covered.”

“Yup,” Michael’s answer was confident.

Daniel started to wake up, hungry and ready to be fed. Dean left both boys with Sam while he went to get a bottle and then, with a lot of help from his fathers, Michael fed his baby brother for the first time. The little boy seemed fascinated with his brother, even supervising with bright eyes as Dean changed the newborn’s diaper.

“This’ll just get messier as he gets older,” Dean cautioned his son.

“Everybody poops, DeeDee,” Michael said, quoting from a book that Sam used to read to him while they were potty training him. “It’s just smelly; it won’t hurt you none.”

“I’ll remind you of that later,” Dean commented under his breath. He knew from personal experience that Michael’s enthrallment with his brother was unlikely to fade, but over time the child would probably be less sanguine about the messy details.

When Daniel had been fed, burped, and his butt cleaned, Dean and his boys piled onto the bed with Sam. Michael was once again holding the baby on his lap, but despite his excitement, time started catching up with the little boy. With a father on either side of him and his newborn brother in his lap, Michael drifted off to sleep. Seeing that the baby was safely laying on Michael’s outstretched legs, Sam and Dean let him stay there. Dean idly ran a hand through Michael’s unruly mop, completely satisfied with his world.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam said quietly.

Dean looked over at his brother. Sam looked every bit as content as he felt. “Yeah?”

“You know that story you told me last night, about Sir Dean and Sir Sam?” Sam asked. When Dean nodded, he continued. “I think they found that happily ever after they were looking for.”

After glancing at his two boys and then at his brother, Dean knew that he couldn’t argue with that, not that he even wanted to.

“Yeah,” Dean said with feeling. “I think you’re right.”

They had their happily ever after, Winchester style.

~the end~

The story was originally intended to end here, but that didn't exactly happen More chapters to come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted October 1, 2006


	30. White Christmas

Sometimes Sam thought that his sons had been switched and been birthed by the wrong brother. Michael was the sensitive one, not too surprising given the eight year-old’s gift of empathy. Michael was still a Winchester and could rough and tumble with the best of them, but he was prone to ‘chick flick’ moments, unlike the father that had carried him for nine months. Danny, on the other hand, was Dean in miniature. Like Dean, Danny was physically very active and quite coordinated for his age. Unfortunately, he also was utterly fearless and it was only the hyper-awareness of his fathers that had kept the youngster from multiple trips to the emergency room.

Danny did differ from Dean in one significant way. Like Michael and Sam, Danny had a gift. It took the brothers even longer to figure it out than it had Michael’s, though, mainly because Danny’s gift was a subtle one.

Their youngest son’s gift was to block other gifts.

It didn’t work on other supernatural phenomenon, something that was a relief. Had Danny been revealed to be some sort of magic or paranormal damper, then his life would doubtlessly been in danger. His ability seemed to be restricted the special gifts that Sam and the others like him had. Sam’s visions had never been reliable, but after Danny’s birth, he’d never had one at home. It wasn’t until they realized that Michael wasn’t bombarded by the emotions of others when he was around his younger sibling that they put two and two together. A quick trip to expose Andy to Danny and they realized Danny’s abilities extended beyond the family.

For the most part, Danny’s gift was a welcome relief. They made sure he accompanied his older brother when Michael needed to go to the doctor, to act as a buffer for the unpleasant emotions that had always overloaded the youngster before. It also gave the family some added privacy. Michael was a good boy and didn’t intentionally ‘listen’ in on the feelings of his family members, but sometimes he couldn’t help it.

The blocking ability also meant that Michael wasn’t tuned in to his brother’s feelings. It didn’t seem to matter; the siblings were close and, most of the time, got along well.

“Gimme that!”

Well, most of the time anyway.

Sam sighed. It was only the day after Christmas; he was hoping that the spirit of the season would have lasted longer. He supposed it was inevitable that there would be some sibling squabbling. When you take two little boys, add the excitement of Christmas presents and an increased sugar intake due to all the Christmas treats, it was bound to lead to some hyper behavior.

“What’s going on, boys?” He asked as he entered the living room.

It still looked like a bomb had gone off. Dean and Sam hadn’t had the best Christmases growing up and were determined that their boys would have better. Ruefully, Sam realized that they might have gone overboard. Despite their best efforts to clean up, there still were bits of wrapping paper littering the floor and empty boxes piled everywhere.

At the moment, Sam was more worried about the kids than the state of the room. Two sets of green eyes looked at him as he came into the room, with varying degrees of indignation.

“Mikey won’t share,” Danny complained.

“He’ll break it,” Michael was quick to leap to his own defense. “He’s too little, you said so.”

Sam immediately saw the item in question. Michael had begged for, and received, the newest handheld computer. It was indeed too much for Danny to handle and the older boy had been cautioned about keeping his little brother away from it.

“Danny,” Sam bent down until he was closer to the four year-old’s height. “We talked about this. That’s not a toy and it’s something for big kids.”

His son’s reaction was almost immediate. Danny’s lower lip stuck out and his eyes filled up with tears. “But I’m a big boy; DeeDee says so.”

Sam smiled and stood, reaching out and picking up the child as he did. “Of course you’re a big boy, but you’re not as big as Michael.”

“That’s not fair,” Danny’s voice was close to a wail. “I’ll never be as big as Mikey.”

“You’ll always be younger than Michael,” Sam reassured the little boy, bouncing a bit as he held him. That didn’t work as well as it had when the kids were babies, but it was still worth a try. “But it gets better as you get older, trust me.”

Danny sniffed, not at all convinced, and just laid his head on Sam’s shoulder. As Sam kissed the top of the child’s head, he felt a tug on his arm. When he looked down, Michael was peering up at him solemnly.

“DaSa? What if I sat with him on the couch and we did it together?” Michael asked. He could never resist Danny’s distress for long. “If I’m right there, I wouldn’t let him break it.”

Sam shook his head, holding firm. “No, Michael, he has to learn. Sharing is great, but he gets too frustrated if he tries to play with something that’s too advanced.” He smiled down at his eldest. “You shouldn’t feel bad about that; Danny’s got lots of toys appropriate for his age.”

It was something that Sam insisted on, even if Dean didn’t always agree with him. Although Sam’s brother wouldn’t admit it, Sam knew that a lot of Dean’s childhood had been stolen because he’d had to look after his younger brother. Michael and Daniel weren’t in the same position, thank God, but Sam was determined that Michael wouldn’t go through what Dean had.

The front door opened, blowing in some snow and Dean. The older Winchester brother was covered in the white stuff.

“Son of bi-. . . .” Dean stopped abruptly as he realized he had a pint-sized audience. “- gun, it’s a mess outside.”

“Is it still snowing?” Sam asked.

“No, it finally stopped, but it dumped a grunt-load of the stuff before it did,” Dean answered, slapping his mitten-covered hands together. “You sure you don’t want to move back to Virginia?”

When Sam had gotten his doctorate, there had been a number of teaching jobs that he’d applied for. He’d ended up taking one in southern Minnesota. Virginia had been good to them and would always be close to their hearts, since that’s where their family had started, but their roots were in the Midwest. They’d gone with Minnesota because the state was known to be very liberal. The Winchesters weren’t open about the fact that they were brothers, but they didn’t try and hide the fact that they were in a same sex relationship and, for the most part, they’d been left alone about it.

The hardest part about deciding to move from Richmond was the idea of leaving Liddy. Their daycare provider had become part of the family and they hated to rip the boys away from her. John had solved the problem by asking Liddy to marry him. John was the only one that had been surprised when she’d said yes and he’d had a look of wonder on his face ever since.

“You look like a snowman, DeeDee,” Danny stated.

“Do I?” Dean walked closer and shook himself, dousing Danny and Sam, who was still holding the boy, with snow. Danny shrieked and Sam smiled indulgently as the boy all but throttled him as he pretended to try and get away. When Dean heard Michael giggle, he made an exaggerated frown face.

“Think that’s funny, do you?” Dean mock growled. Before Michael could run, Dean grabbed him in his arms and buried his cold face in Michael’s neck. “How’s that? That nose cold enough for you?” 

Michael’s shriek wasn’t quite as loud as his brother’s had been, although he was more successful at getting away.

“DeeDee, you said if it quit snowing, we could build a snowman,” Michael reminded Dean.

“I did?” Dean took off his hat and scratched his head. “You sure?”

Not fooled in the slightest by his father’s pretense of not remembering, Michael nodded his head. “Yup.”

Dean grinned. “Well, then. I guess you better get at it.”

“Yeah!” Danny yelled right into Sam’s ear, his pique at not getting to play with his brother’s ‘toy’ forgotten. “We’re gonna build a snowman!”

Shaking his head to clear the ringing in his ears, Sam set the younger child down on his feet and the two boys scampered down the hall towards the coat closet.

“Coats, boots, mittens, hats AND snowpants,” Dean called after them. “It’s cold outside.”

“Awww, DeeDee,” Michael complained. “I feel like a sausage when I wear those things.”

“Yeah, sausage,” Danny repeated.

“Too bad,” Dean answered firmly. “You’ll be warm sausages.”

“But. . . .”

“No snowpants, no snowman,” Dean stated in that tone of voice that indicated that the subject was closed.

Sam stifled a smile. Dean was, as predicted, the cool dad, but when he put his foot down, it stayed down. The pouting didn’t last long, though, as the allure of a yard full of newly fallen snow proved stronger than the complaints over the protective gear. With a minimal amount of fussing, the boys started pulling out the necessary garments.

“Anybody have to go to the bathroom?” Sam cautioned. “Xena and Joxer are the only ones in the family allowed to make yellow snow.”

When Daniel had been born, Bobby had trained a dog for him too. It was a male and was a full-bred boxer. Bobby had claimed that he named it Joxer to keep with the Xena theme, but Dean always grumbled it was so they’d have to say 'Joxer the Boxer.'

“Come on, Danny,” Michael said with a big sigh. “We better go try anyway.”

“Knuckleheads,” Dean said fondly as they watched their kids tromp down the hall.

Sam smiled. “They take after their father.”

“Which one?” Dean replied automatically, his own face lighting up with an answering grin.

It was an old joke between the two, but it never got tired. Dean leaned forward, asking for and getting a quick kiss.

“Man, your nose is cold,” Sam complained. 

“You know what they say about us Minnesotans,” Dean smirked. “Cold nose, warm. . . .”

“Hey!” Sam yelped as his brother’s hand ventured into territory that did not appreciate how cold it was.

Dean’s chuckle was downright evil.

“Dad called,” Sam stated, trying to change the subject. “He and Liddy aren’t coming over this afternoon, because of the snow.”

“I bet because of the snow,” Dean muttered. “Those two are worse than us.”

Marrying Liddy had mellowed John even more than the boys’ birth had. For the first time in his life, Sam was seeing the John Winchester that had existed before the demon had killed his mother. It was difficult to reconcile the hardened hunter that he knew with the besotted married man that his father had become. 

“Yeah, well I don’t want to think about it,” Sam retorted primly. “For all we know, Liddy has him hanging curtains or something.”

John still hunted, but not as frequently. Even so, it would have been disastrous for Liddy to open a daycare out of their home. Since she loved kids, she worked out of the one run for university staff, which kept her close to the boys. 

“As long as they’re still babysitting for us on New Years Eve, they could be dancing naked outside for all I care,” Dean commented. “We gotta celebrate the youngest tenured professor in the university’s history.”

Sam blushed, but grinned. He’d gotten the news right before Christmas that he’d reached tenure status, the youngest to ever do so at his school. It still didn’t feel quite real.

“That reminds me, I gotta make an appearance once the new semester starts,” Dean added. “You be sure to tell Rose.”

Sam was a very popular professor and his subject matter was only part of the reason why. Dr. Winchester wasn’t all that much older than his students and was considered one of the hippest teachers on campus, despite Dean’s teasing him about being a geek. It also hadn’t gone unnoticed by the students, primarily the female ones, that he was attractive. There had been a few crushes and Dean, maybe remembering the Indiana Jones movies, liked to put a halt to that kind of thing. He made a point of showing up at least once a semester and doing a very public display of affection. Rose was the department’s secretary and adored Dean even more than she did Sam. Far from being offended by seeing two men kiss, she enjoyed it and would give Sam a hard time if she missed it.

Unfortunately, Dean’s comment brought up a less pleasant subject.

“Ellen called too,” Sam said quietly. “She wanted to know if it was okay to come up and drop off the boys’ Christmas gifts.”

Dean stiffened. “What did you say?”

“That she was welcome in our house any time, but she’d better leave her sloe-eyed bitch of a daughter at home,” Sam stated firmly.

His bald statement got him a startled look from his brother. “You didn’t say that.”

“Not exactly those words,” Sam was unrepentant. “But close.”

As the proprietor of the Roadhouse, Ellen was well connected in the hunting world and had been one of the ones John had contacted for the final battle with the demon. Ellen had been willing to participate and had spread the word among other hunters, but had wanted to leave her daughter out of it. Sam and Dean had understood, sympathizing completely with Ellen wanting to protect her child. As a result, they didn’t actually meet Jo until after Danny was born.

Jo had taken one look at Dean and seen something she liked. A lot.

Sam didn’t really blame Jo for falling instantly in lust with his brother. She wasn’t the first and likely wouldn’t be the last. He did blame her, however, for not taking no for an answer. Despite Dean’s repeated and increasingly blunt refusal of her affections, the young woman had continued her pursuit until she was practically stalking him. It had been a bad time. Sam had been feeling vulnerable, just after giving birth, and Dean was always sensitive to any inference that he was sleeping around. He was too afraid that someone would believe him capable of cheating on Sam, given Dean’s history as a ladies’ man. 

It was Liddy, of all people, who’d put a stop to it. Normally a quiet woman, she hadn’t taken kindly to someone making her stepsons miserable, and had taken matters into her own hands. She’d had a pointed talk with both Jo and Ellen. To this day, Sam wasn’t sure what had been said, but the stalking had stopped. They hadn’t heard from Jo since, but Ellen seemed to be on eggshells around them and Liddy, for some reason, made her extremely nervous.

“What’d Ellen say?” Dean asked, trying for a nonchalant tone. Like Michael earlier, Sam wasn’t fooled. Dean was a consummate liar, but for those who knew and loved him, he was an open book.

“She made a point of saying that Jo would stay home to watch the Roadhouse,” Sam replied.

“Well, okay then,” Dean nodded.

Just then the boys came back from the bathroom and made a lot of noise as they started donning their outdoor gear. Michael helped Danny with his snowpants and both fathers smiled indulgently at the sight.

“They’re good kids,” Sam said softly.

“Yeah, we done good,” Dean agreed, but just had to add, “So far. We haven’t even reached the teen years yet.”

Sam smiled ruefully. “And the way Dad’s been rubbing his hands together whenever he talks about it, something tells me that payback’s gonna be a bitch.”

“DeeDee,” Michael called out as they geared-up boys approached. “Can we build a snow monster instead of a snowman?”

“Yeah!” Danny yelled, jumping up and down in anticipation. “Wendigo! Wendigo!”

Dean shot Sam a guilty look, but Sam just rolled his eyes. He knew perfectly well that his youngest had no real idea of what a wendigo was; Danny just liked to say the word.

“In the back yard,” Sam said firmly. They had an old farm house on a bunch of acres, so they had relatively privacy, but still had to be careful of what the neighbors thought of them.

“Okay,” Michael replied with a grin. “The backyard’s better anyway. More room.”

“All right, sausages, let’s go,” Dean instructed as he fastened up his own coat. “When we’re going through the kitchen, we’ll get some food coloring. Our monster’ll be in Technicolor.” He looked at Sam. “Green, I mean.” Not red for blood.

Sam rolled his eyes. “I tell you what, I’ll get my coat on and join you. We might as well use that Jell-O mold we got for Halloween. You know, the brain one.”

“Cool!” Michael exclaimed as Danny clapped his hands in excitement.

There was much stomping of feet and loud talking as the trio headed for the back of the house. Sometimes Sam wondered if he had three kids instead of two. And, as much as they tried to protect their kids from the ‘family business,’ the boys were bound to pick up on some things. Only a Winchester would want to make a snow monster instead of a snowman.

After grabbing his coat and retrieving the brain mold, Sam headed for the back door himself. He couldn’t hear any excited calls coming from the back yard, nor could he see anyone as he took a quick look through the window. No doubt Dean had led the kids on some sort of ambush. Sam could expect to be bombarded with snowballs as soon as he went through the door. It was a Winchester sort of thing to do. 

Grinning madly, Sam got out a large metal tray and, brandishing it as a shield, opened the door and entered the fray.

After all, he was as much a Winchester as the rest of them.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted December 26, 2006


	31. Prey - part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now for something a little bit different...
> 
> Prey is the first of three multi-chapter stories set within the Baby Steps universe. (The other two are Hunter and Healing.) To me, Baby Steps will always be about the fluffy, non-chronological short stories, but I think to some readers, this trio is the heart of the series. In any case, there will be plot and some angst in the coming chapters. If that's not your cup of tea, don't worry; the short, fluffy stuff will come back. Eventually. If I keep to my chapter a day pace, the three story arc will finish in a little over a month.

Dean Winchester was patient with exactly two things. His car and his kids; not necessarily in that order. Sam grinned and leaned against the doorframe. To him Dean would always be the gruff-voiced badass in a leather coat that made Sam’s blood run hot, but that didn’t preclude him from being a great dad too.

“But I don’t hafta go!”

Sam and Dean’s eyes met over the head of their four year-old. Danny currently had a belligerent look on his face that was totally Winchester.

“Go try anyway,” Dean said affably. “You don’t want our trip to the park cut short because you have to go to the bathroom.”

“But DeeDee. . .”

“What did I say, Danny?” Dean’s voice got firmer. “One. . . two. . .”

Danny was only four, but he knew better than to let his father’s count reach the number three. Stomping his feet hard, he petulantly headed for the bathroom.

“That kid,” Dean shook his head fondly. “He’s something else.”

Sam snorted. “He’s just like his dad.”

Dean grinned. “I’d ask which dad but I know for a fact that I was a little angel when it came to potty training. He’s all yours on this one, Sammy.”

Despite the backhanded insult, Sam grinned. He’d always heard that your second child was easier to potty train than the first, that having an older sibling was both instructional and inspirational. Danny was the breaker of that particular myth. Right on target for most developmental milestones, getting him out of diapers had been a challenge. Sam remembered one memorable afternoon, when Danny was three and a half, and they saw the growing wet patch on his jeans. Danny had stopped, looked down, and then yelled “I don’t care” to the world in general.

And there was no way that Dean was pinning that on Sam.

“Yeah, don’t think I won’t ask Dad about that,” Sam warned his brother. He leaned over for a quick kiss. “But those tests won’t grade themselves. You sure you’re okay with me not going to the park with you?”

Dean shrugged. “”Hey, it’s finals week. We lose you one Saturday afternoon to get the grading done, then you have the next three weeks off. Sounds like a good deal to me.” He stuck his head into the living room. “Yo, Mikey. Put the book down, we’re about ready to go to the park.”

Sam stole one more kiss and then let himself out the backdoor. Damn, but it was hard to leave. Dean was wearing his leather jacket, the beat-up one that he refused to replace. Under it, he had on a green t-shirt that matched his eyes exactly and jeans that fit like a second skin. Dean looked good enough to eat and Sam found him all the sexier for the way he handled the kids. 

The kids.

A family day at the park was not something that Sam wanted to miss, especially on such a fine, crisp autumn day. Sam was feeling a bit grumbly about the whole thing as he strode out to his SUV, but Dean was right. One afternoon was worth having three weeks free of university obligations. 

Dean hated the SUV, claiming it was soulless, but Sam loved it. Not necessarily because of the way it drove or how it could plow through the worst Minnesota snowstorm, but simply because of the size of the thing. It was one of the few vehicles that Sam had ever driven where he didn’t feel cramped. He readily admitted that it wasn’t as stylish as the Impala, but it was a hell of a lot more comfortable.

The university was a twenty minute drive from their home and Sam had mostly worked himself out of his bad mood by the time he got there. He stopped in a coffee shop on his way to his office and was almost cheerful by the time he sat himself at his desk.

“Okay, let’s see how well you guys listened,” he murmured as he contemplated the stack of blue books waiting for him. 

Dean told him he was mean for relying on essay tests, but Sam felt it gave him a better handle on his students’ progress than something like multiple choice. Not that Dean disapproved of Sam being hard on his students; every semester during testing season, he gleefully asked if Sam had made any of them cry yet. Sam hated to disappoint his brother, but so far none of his students had wept.

“Well, there’s always this year,” Sam said with a smile as he opened the first one. 

He was about halfway through the stack when the vision hit.

Visions had been scarce since Danny was born. Maybe it was their youngest child’s ability for blocking other gifts or maybe there had just been less need for them since the demon had been destroyed. In any case, it took Sam by surprise.

The pain was a sledgehammer. Crying out, Sam dropped his pen and clutched at his head. Images flickered behind his closed eyelids. It took a moment, but they finally resolved themselves into a mental movie that was pure horror.

Sam saw Dean, still in the same green shirt and jacket. Vibrant fall colors were in the background and Sam immediately knew that his brother was in the park. His brother was also bleeding. Despite his obvious wounds, Dean was crawling across the ground, tears openly streaming down his face. The vision ruthlessly showed Sam why his brother was weeping. As it continued, Sam watched as Dean crawled over to the lifeless bodies of their sons. The vision was silent, but Sam could see Dean cry out in anguish as he collapsed over the corpses of their children. His gaze became glassy as Dean’s eyes glazed over in death.

The vision started to fade, but Sam resisted. He dug in with every ounce of determination that he had. The vision had showed him what and where, but not why or who was responsible. The images grayed at the edges, but Sam managed to hold on until he saw another face. From the dripping knife in his hand, he was clearly the one responsible for the ‘death’ of Sam’s family.

Gordon Walker.

The vision left him and Sam gasped. Frantic, he lurched to his feet, but lost his balance. He crashed into the desk and then bounced from that to the wall, but he didn’t let that stop him. Fumbling for his cell phone, he stumbled his way to the door.

“Professor Winchester, are you okay?” A female student peered at him in concern as he made his uncertain way from his office.

“Out of my way,” Sam growled at her, still trying to get his cell phone in his hand and turned on.

“But Professor Winchester, you’re bleeding.”

Sam swiped under his nose. Sure enough it was bloody, but he didn't slow down. Sam,barreled down the hall, finally having gotten his cell phone up and running. He hit a programmed number and closed his eyes in a thankful prayer when his brother answered.

“Dean, get the kids and run,” Sam barked out, not even giving the other man a chance to say more than hello. “I had a vision. Gordon’s after the boys. Just run.”

Dean didn’t question him. Before he disconnected, Sam heard his brother calling to the children. Sam reached the SUV and slid in. His keys were in his hand without him knowing how they got there. Once he had the vehicle careening down the road, Sam made another call.

“Dad?” Sam asked as soon as his father answered.

“What’s wrong?” His father barked, knowing from just the way Sam said that word that there was a problem.

“Gordon Walker’s after Dean and the boys. They’re at the park,” Sam explained in a rush. “I had a vision. He’s. . . he’s gonna kill all three of them.”

“Fuck,” John said succinctly. “I’m on my way. Did you warn Dean?”

Sam blew through a stop sign, ignoring the blaring horns blasting at him from the other cars. “Yeah.” 

“Did you call the police?”

”Police?” Sam repeated. It had been drilled into him from a young age to keep the police out of things as much as possible.

John didn’t answer, but Sam could hear him turn away from the phone and instruct Liddy to call 911 and make an anonymous report of a man stalking children at the neighborhood park. Sam beat his hand against the steering wheel as his father gave Liddy a description of Gordon to provide. He should have thought of that.

“It’s the fastest way to get help to them,” John spoke to Sam again. “Sam, did Dean take the dogs with them?”

The sound of John’s voice was calming Sam down, helping him become more focused. “I don’t know.”

“Well, we can only pray,” John replied. “I’ll get there as fast as I can, son.” He could hear his father take a deep breath. “Your brother is a strong man, a good hunter. He’ll protect the boys with his life.”

“I know, Dad,” Sam responded as he pressed the gas pedal to the floor. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

~to be continued in Prey – Part 2~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on January 22, 2007


	32. Prey - Part 2

"Mikey, Danny, c’mon, let’s go!” Dean shouted for his boys before cursing under his breath. “Fucking son of a bitch.”

It felt like the trees had eyes, boring into the back of his head. The boys liked this park because it usually was deserted. The climbing equipment was older, but it had a fort made out of weathered timbers that the boys loved using. Now its isolation was a curse; it would be a good place for an ambush. 

His sons were reluctant to leave off their play; they hadn’t been there that long.

“Now, boys,” Dean repeated. 

He strode over to where his sons were, trying to hurry without looking like he was hurrying. If Gordon knew Dean was on to him, he might make a move and Dean needed to delay that from happening if there was any hope of getting help to them in time. 

Dean whistled for the dogs and his heart sank when there was no answering barks. If he were Gordon, then eliminating the dogs would be his first step. . . and Gordon Walker was a far more ruthless hunter than Dean had ever been.

“But DeeDee, we just got here,” Michael protested. 

At least he was walking towards Dean, if slowly. Danny was still climbing on the fort’s ladder.

“And now we’re leaving,” Dean answered curtly. “Daniel James Winchester, I’m not telling you again.”

Danny dropped from the ladder and caught up to his brother. As soon as the boys joined him, Dean steered them towards the car. He’d only gone a few steps before he stopped, realizing his mistake. He’d parked the Impala by a stand of trees. They’d made a quick trip to get the car washed before going to the park and Dean hadn’t wanted any water spots drying on the paint. Unfortunately, the position gave a potential hunter too much opportunity for concealment. 

Dropping a hand on each boy’s shoulder, Dean turned them in the opposite direction.

“DeeDee, the car’s the other way,” Michael tugged at Dean’s sleeve.

“I know, champ, but we’re not going to take the car,” Dean encouraged both boys to walk faster, even as he kept a wary eye on their surroundings.

Danny chose that moment to become stubborn. “DeeDee, where’s Joxie? We can’t leave without Joxie an’ Xena.”

Dean swallowed heavily. If all they lost in this encounter was the lives of the animals, he would count the family lucky. Of course, that wouldn’t stop Dean from taking the price of the dogs out of Gordon’s hide. Since they were the boys’ pets and were priceless to them, Gordon likely wouldn’t have any hide left when Dean was finished with him.

“We’ll come back for them later,” Dean assured the child, hoping it was true. “Now, I have to tell you boys something.”

”DeeDee, what’s wrong?” Michael asked, beginning to look frightened.

Dean did his best to shove his fear down deep. Even with Danny damping Michael’s empathy, his oldest was good at reading expressions and vocal tones. He needed the kids alert and focused, not scared shitless like their old man was at the moment.

“I need you boys to do something for me,” Dean instructed. He had each of them by the hand and was walking briskly in the direction mostly likely to bring them around other people. A hunter like Gordon Walker liked the shadows and isolation; they were safest in a crowd. “When I tell you to, I want you to run and don’t look back.”

“Run?” Danny asked. “Only yellow bellies run. That’s what the guy in the movie I watched with Grandpa said.”

“Well, who are you gonna believe?” Dean asked. “A movie guy or me?”

Danny’s face scrunched up. “You, DeeDee.”

“Good bo-. . . .”

Dean’s voice broke off when a burning pain sliced across the upper part of his leg. There’d been no sound of a gun, but he knew he’d been shot. Even as he fell, Dean pushed his children away.

“Run, now!”

Michael took his little brother’s hand and moved away a few steps, but then looked back in fear. “DeeDee?”

”I’m right behind you,” Dean promised. Another shot hit a tree next to the boys. “Now, run!”

They boys turned to obey, but a large figure came dashing out of the woods. Michael managed to evade the stranger, but Danny slipped on a patch of leaves. Gordon Walker scooped up the little boy and held him around the waist, facing Dean. Danny kicked his feet, but it didn’t do any good.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” Gordon said, almost sadly. “I didn’t want to frighten them.”

“Yeah, right,” Dean snarled. He used a hand signal to motion Michael away from Gordon. He tried to get up, but was unable to make it to his feet.“Tell that to their dogs.”

“It pained me to do it, but Bobby’s reputation as a dog trainer is formidable. I don’t like hurting dumb animals any more than I do children.” Gordon started circling Dean, Danny still dangling in his grasp and a gun in his other hand. “This will be quick, Dean, I promise you.”

Dean felt his throat close up. In their first run-in with Gordon Walker, he’d actually liked the man, felt he was a kindred spirit of sorts. Then he learned that Walker killed any supernatural phenomenon that crossed his path and didn’t bother to try to figure out if it was evil first. They’d come to blows over a group of harmless vampires, with Dean coming out on top. 

In their second meeting, Gordon had been intent on hunting Sam, claiming that Sam was evil and had to be destroyed. Thanks to Sam, Gordon had been arrested for murder instead of killed, which had been Dean’s preference. Dean had almost been sorry that the man was still locked up when they’d finally confronted the demon; he would have been a good hunter to have at their side in that fight. He and Sam had assumed that, with the demon destroyed, Gordon would realize Sam was no threat.

They were wrong. Horribly, awfully wrong.

“Let them go,” Dean begged, still on his knees. He felt blood pouring out of the wound in his thigh. “I gave birth, that should be unnatural enough for you. Just do what you want with me and let them go. I won’t fight you, I promise.”

Gordon shook his head. “Can’t do that, Dean. I can understand a man loving his children, even if they are evil spawn. I can’t fault you for that, but I can’t let them grow up to be monsters either.”

“I’m not a monster!” Danny yelled, kicking again. “You’re a big meanie.”

“Oh, he’s a Winchester all right,” Gordon smiled, seeming to be genuinely amused by the youngster’s antics. “And if he were anyone’s son but Sam’s, I’d let him live, since he doesn’t seem to have any freaky powers like the other one there. But I can’t take that chance. I’ll take care of the spawn and then I’ll go after their sire.” He looked at Dean in pity. “In time you’ll understand that it was all for the best.”

To Dean’s horror, Gordon reached for a large knife that was clipped to his belt. Dean could feel himself weakening from blood loss already, but he gathered himself. Gordon Walker would not be allowed to touch one hair on his either of sons’ heads.

Before Dean could make the effort to throw himself at the man holding his son, a brown missile launched itself out of the shadows. Without a sound, Joxer attacked Gordon, going for the throat and only then beginning to growl. Gordon yelped and dropped Danny, who immediately ran to his father. 

Dean could see the red of blood and knew that Joxer was entering the fight wounded. At best, the dog was buying him a few moments. It would have to be enough.

“Michael, Daniel, come here,” he called out gently. 

The boys sobbed and ran to him. Dean hugged them both tightly for just a heartbeat. “Look, I’m going to ask you to do the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.” They both gulped and nodded. “You have to run now. Run to where you can find a lot of people and tell them that a bad man tried to hurt you.” 

The snarling behind him started to falter.

Michael’s face was covered with tears as he asked, “What about you?”

“I’ll follow. Go, now,” Dean ordered, thrusting the children away. 

To his profound relief, they started to run, picking up speed as they went. Dean’s heart leapt with joy and he lurched to his feet. There was a good chance that the boys would make it out of this. And if he did too, he decided, he wasn’t ever leaving the house without a gun, a big one, ever again.

Dean didn’t hear the second gunshot any more than he had the first. He felt it hit his back like a freight train and he went down again. As he started to crawl, he could hear Gordon’s footsteps crackle in the fallen leaves that blanketed the ground and then the man’s hand was in his hair, pulling his head up cruelly.

“They’re gone, you bastard,” Dean smiled despite his pain. “You’ll never get them now. Sammy’ll make mincemeat out of you.”

”Call them back,” Gordon demanded. He’d put his gun away and had the knife in hand. It looked even bigger close up and pressed up against Dean’s neck. 

“Call your children back now.”

~to be continued in Prey – Part 3~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted January 23, 1014


	33. Prey - Part 3

Sam was still a couple of blocks away from the park when he saw his children. A small knot of people were gathered on the sidewalk and, as the SUV passed them, a man moved aside just enough for Sam to get a good look at Danny’s face. He pulled the SUV into a tight turn that he was sure its designers had never intended. In fact, the vehicle was only on two wheels when he jerked it to a stop and had barely bounced back onto all four tires before he was out and running.

“Michael! Danny!”

“DaSa!” Michael broke away from the group of concerned adults surrounding them and, with Danny in tow, ran towards his father. 

It seemed like an eternity before Sam had his arms wrapped around them. He knelt and pressed the two small bodies close, dropping kisses onto the tops of their heads. He could feel his sons shaking and crooned softly, desperate to reassure them. 

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he chanted softly. “It’s okay now, you’re safe.”

Even as he comforted his children, though, Sam’s mind was racing. Dean was nowhere to be seen.

“Sir?” A concerned voice penetrated Sam’s awareness. He looked up to see a policeman standing a respectful few feet away. He had no idea where the man came from, but he was glad to see him. “Can you tell us what happened?”

“My husband had the kids at the park,” Sam explained, not unwrapping himself from his children. “When I talked to him on the phone, he said there was a suspicious man hanging around and he was getting the boys out of there.” Sam’s voice cracked with anguish. “I don’t see him anywhere.”

Michael lifted his head from where it had been hidden in Sam’s shoulder. “The bad man hurt DeeDee. DeeDee told us to run.”

The policeman crouched so he could directly address the distraught boy. “Where, son?”

“Over there,” Michael pointed in the direction of the park. “DeeDee was bleeding!”

The last was said in a wail and, obviously affected by the child’s fear, the policeman reached out to stroke Michael’s hair. Michael flinched away from him and re-buried his face in Sam’s chest.

“What was your husband wearing?” The cop asked, getting up, a determined look on his face.

“Leather coat, green shirt,” Sam answered succinctly. “Hurry, please.”

Now that his focus wasn’t solely on reaching his husband and children in time, Sam was aware of sirens. From the sounds of things, they had converged on the park and he closed his eyes in prayer. The boys were far too upset to be coherent and Sam could only hope that Dean was still alive. A part of him longed to go and check, but there was no way he would leave his sons, not even if he could pry them away from his body.

Sam was vaguely aware of policemen herding the crowd of concerned people away from them. A lady officer with a kind face ushered Sam and the boys to a bench. Sam gratefully sank down onto it, shifting Danny into his lap on one side and Michael on the other. He’d never been so happy for his long legs, their length making a big enough lap for both children.

“DeeDee told us to run,” Michael whispered. “He told us.”

“And you did the right thing,” Sam responded firmly. He nudged Michael until the boy looked up at him. “That’s the best thing you could have done, Michael, just what your DeeDee told you to. I’m proud of you.”

“But where’s DeeDee?” Michael asked, hiccupping a sob. “He said he’d be right behind us, but he’s not. Where is he? Where’s Xena?” The boy started gasping. “And Joxer, Joxer bit that man!”

“The man was trying to hurt you,” Sam bent down to kiss his oldest’s head. “Joxer loved you.” Sam winced at his verbal slip. “Loves you. He was just protecting you, just like DeeDee.”

“DaSa, I want DeeDee!” Michael wailed. “Where is he?”

“Shhhh, shhhh,” Sam tried to comfort him, feeling like crying himself. “It’s going to be okay.”

Through all of the emotional commotion, Danny hadn’t uttered a sound. Danny, the rambunctious child who hadn’t been afraid of a single thing in his whole life, clung to Sam silently and shook. 

“Thank God.”

Sam looked up at the choked voice to find his father standing there, staring at them with his heart in his eyes.

“Where’s Dean?” John asked, moving forward.

Sam blinked back tears. “I don’t know.” He jerked his chin towards the park. “They were attacked over there. I sent the police that way, but no one. . . no one’s come to tell me anything.”

John sat down on the bench and wrapped an arm around Michael. With a soft cry, the boy transferred his hold to his grandfather. John kissed him tenderly on the top of the head and then reached for Danny. “Can you come to grandpa, Champ? Your DaSa wants to go check on your dad.”

When Danny’s only response was to burrow into Sam more, John reached for him and pried the little boy’s fingers off of Sam’s coat.

“Dad. . . .” Sam protested weakly. He was desperate to check on Dean, but not at the expense of his son.

“Dean needs you too,” John answered. He lifted Danny from Sam’s arms and pulled him close. To Sam’s relief, Danny nestled into John’s warmth as readily as he had his father’s. “Go. We’ll be fine.”

Sam took a moment to stroke each boy’s hair and then hastened towards the park. At first he walked briskly, but almost immediately broke out into a trot. By the time he’d gone a block, he was running full-out.

When Sam got to the park itself, he saw a lot of activity, but what he focused on was the still form being loaded on a stretcher. He put on a burst of speed, the only thing keeping him sane was the fact that it was an ambulance stretcher and not the coroner’s.

He was so focused on his brother that he almost didn’t see the policeman that stepped in front of him. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“That’s my husband,” Sam growled. “Get out of my way.”

From the determined look on the cop’s face, he wasn’t convinced. In a way, Sam was glad the authorities were being so protective, but mostly he just needed to get to Dean.

Things were about to get ugly, when another officer stepped in. Sam recognized him as the first officer on the scene, the one that had tried to be kind to Michael. “Reynolds, it’s okay. He’s the vic’s family.”

Both of them stepped aside and Sam made it to the ambulance before they loaded Dean in. An oxygen mask was over Dean’s face, but Sam could tell that he was fighting it.

“Sir. . . .” One of the attendants noticed him approach and, like the policeman, tried to flag Sam off.

“I’m his husband,” Sam interrupted him. “Please. . . I have to be with him.”

The paramedic looked ready to protest, but the woman’s partner stopped her. “Wait a minute, Sally. Maybe he can help.” He turned to Sam. “He’s very agitated and we need him calm.”

Sam nodded, but before he clambered into the vehicle, he turned to look at the policeman. “My father’s with my boys. Can you tell them where I’m going?”

”I’ll take care of it,” the man nodded.

Confident that the rest of his family was taken care of, Sam climbed into the ambulance, determined to concentrate on Dean. It was hard for a man of Sam’s size to stay out of the way, but he tried his best. Dean seemed to sense his presence, restlessly turning towards him. Sam could see the other man’s mouth move, but because of the oxygen mask, couldn’t make out the words. He didn’t really need to hear what Dean was trying to say, though, to know what was on the injured man’s mind.

“Dean, listen to me,” Sam said to his brother, taking Dean’s hand. “The boys are fine. Michael and Danny are okay, Dean. You kept them safe.”

“Is that his name? Dean?” The male paramedic asked. When Sam nodded, he turned to his patient. “Dean, you’re going to be fine. We’re taking good care of you, but we need you to stay awake. Do you hear me? I know you feel like crap, but you have to stay awake.”

Dean nodded weakly and Sam smiled. “That’s my boy.”

The ride to the hospital was spent dividing his attention between helping Dean stay awake and answering the paramedics’ questions. Sam had almost forgotten, in the years since they’d started their family, how sweet it had been not having to be prepared to recite Dean’s medical history at the drop of the hat.

A couple of times Dean faded out, scaring the shit out of Sam. The alarms would go off on the machines Dean was hooked up to and his eyes would roll back. When that happened, the paramedics would work frantically, but it was Sam’s voice that brought Dean back.

Sam was numb by the time they got to the hospital. He’d surmised that Dean had been shot twice, once in the leg and once in the back. Other than advising him that Dean had lost a dangerous amount of blood, the paramedics couldn’t really comment on Dean’s condition. When they got to the hospital, though, the speed with which they hustled the gurney out of the ambulance and inside gave a hint of the danger his brother was in.

When Dean was wheeled towards the treatment area, a nurse prevented Sam from following. “I’m sorry, Sir, you have to stay here.”

The policeman had tried to keep Sam from his brother and so had the paramedic. The third time was the charm. They hadn’t been successful, but the nurse was. Sam even used the puppy dog eyes, but it didn’t do any good. He was banished to a lobby area, where a sadistic hospital clerk insisted that he fill out an endless array of papers.

“No, this isn’t right,” Sam impatiently handed back the form she handed him. “Dean Winchester isn’t single. He’s my spouse.” He held up his hand, showing her his wedding ring. Minnesota had made same-sex unions legal a couple of years back and they’d made it official as soon as they could. “Legally married husband.”

The clerk sniffed in distaste, but handed him the right form. Sam was too distracted to call her to task for her attitude. That kind of thing was more Dean’s style anyway.

The forms were finally filled in and Sam was released to pace in the waiting room. It felt like hours that he waited, but that actually gave Sam hope. It meant that Dean was still alive. A glance at the clock showed it had been at least an hour since Dean was brought in and Sam began to wonder why his father and the kids hadn’t arrived. He didn’t have a chance to grab his cell phone and call, though, because a man in a white coat came into the waiting room and requested the family of Dean Winchester.

“I’m Sam Winchester,” Sam stated as he walked briskly forward. “Dean’s husband.”

The man, whose nametag indicated he was a doctor, didn’t even blink when Sam identified himself as Dean’s spouse. Sam was relieved that the person who actually had hands-on care of Dean apparently was free of the admitting clerk’s prejudice. “I’m Dr. Khosla, I’ve been treating him. Come with me, Mr. Winchester.”

Sam fell into step with the other man. “How is he?”

“Your husband is holding his own,” the doctor explained as they made their way through a maze of corridors. “The gunshot wound to the leg is fairly simple; its danger was in the associated blood loss. We’ve given him some blood and, for the moment, that part of his condition has stabilized. We’ll need to keep an eye on it, though, as the trauma from the blood loss could still complicate matters.”

“The paramedics said he’d been shot twice,” Sam prompted.

The doctor nodded. “He was also shot in the back. The good news is that the bullet missed the spine completely. There are no concerns for paralysis.”

“And the bad news,” Sam asked, knowing the two always came in pairs.

“The bad news is that the bullet bounced off a rib and entered the lung,” Dr. Khosla stated bluntly. “By the time he was brought in, his lung had collapsed. We’ve managed to reinflate it now, but it’s a temporary measure until the damage to the lung is repaired.” He stopped outside of a treatment room. “We’re a small hospital, Mr. Winchester, and not set up for that kind of surgery. We’ve stabilized your husband and will be having him med-lifted to the cities. A helicopter is on the way.”

“Is he strong enough for that?” Sam asked in concern, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He had a feeling that Dean was just beyond the door and he was eager to see him, but had to get all of the facts first.

“Yes, I believe so,” the doctor reassured him. “Your husband is a young man and in prime physical condition, which increases his odds tremendously. There’s no benefit to keeping him here longer and every reason to get him to a facility that can treat him.”

Sam nodded, accepting the doctor’s statements. It didn’t sound as though there was much choice. “Can I go with him?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” the other man shook his head. “There simply isn’t room in the helicopter for that, but there’s a few minutes before it arrives. I thought it best for him to get a chance to see you before the transport. In fact, he insisted on it, even as ill as he is.” Sam saw a glint of amusement in the doctor’s eyes. “I take it he’s rather stubborn?”

“You have no idea,” Sam responded Dr. Khosla’s comment with feeling, giddy with relief. If Dean was feeling strong enough to be an ass, then his condition wasn’t hopeless.

He moved to go into the room, but a hand on his arm stopped him.

“Keep him calm,” the doctor warned him. “Don’t let him talk or move around. And, above all, help him keep a positive attitude.”

With those cautions ringing in his ears Sam pushed the door open and walked inside. A nurse smiled at him briefly, but stayed in the background, puttering around with something having to do with Dean’s care. Sam pretty much ignored her; his attention was reserved for the man on the bed.

Dean looked marginally better than he had during the ambulance ride, but was still a far cry from the strong, vibrant man that Sam was used to. His head flopped over when he heard someone enter the room and Sam saw his eyes brighten as Dean realized who had come in. He also saw his brother try to speak and, remembering the doctor’s warning, moved quickly to Dean’s side.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to talk,” Sam admonished his brother, grinning when he saw a spark of rebellion in the other man’s expression. The two of them never had needed a lot of words to understand one another. “The kids are with Dad, Dean. They’re fine.”

Dean closed his eyes in relief, a tear escaping and rolling down the side of his face. Sam brushed it away with his thumb.

“Don’t do that,” he begged his brother as he took Dean’s hand. Dean cried so rarely and it tore Sam up every time he witnessed it. “You did good, babe. You saved them; now all you’ve got to do is let the doctors take care of you.” His voice cracked. “We need you. Hell, I need you.”

His words seemed to calm the other man. Or, more likely, Dean saw Sam’s distress and got himself under control so his little brother wouldn’t get more upset. In either case, they sat quietly for a few minutes, Sam murmuring endearments in a soft voice so that only Dean could hear. 

“Mr. Winchester?” A woman called out as she entered. A medical team followed her into the room. “Time to go.”

Sam bent and pressed a tender kiss on Dean’s forehead. “I’ll see you in a little while. Don’t worry, we’ll keep Michael and Danny safe. Just you concentrate on getting better. I’ll be there when you wake up, I promise.”

It was hard to see them wheel Dean away. His brother was hurting and upset and that wasn’t even counting the helicopter flight. Dr. Khosla was with another patient, but the head nurse gave Sam the information on the hospital Dean was going to and where to go when he got there. 

With Dean taken care of for the moment, Sam’s thoughts went back to his children. Still in the bowels of the trauma unit, he couldn’t use his cell phone, but he could and did walk briskly on his way back to the waiting room. When he got there, though, he found the rest of his family waiting for him.

“DaSa!” Michael cried out. He’d been sitting next to Liddy, but upon seeing his father, tore himself from her embrace and threw himself at Sam.

“Hey there, it’s okay,” Sam reassured the child, staggering a little bit until he steadied the boy. “DeeDee’s doing all right. They’re just taking him to a bigger hospital is all.”

John had gotten up more slowly from his chair, Danny still wrapped around him like a clinging vine. “Sam?”

Liddy tried to smile. “Why don’t the boys and I go get a soda? There’s a vending machine right over there.” 

Sam knew she was attempting to get the kids out of ear shot in case the news was bad, but luckily, that wasn’t necessary. 

“No, it’s all right,” Sam quickly responded. “He’s doing pretty good, but they can’t do the surgery he needs here, so they’re flying him to a bigger hospital in Minneapolis.”

Michael whimpered. “But DeeDee hates to fly.”

With a grunt, Sam hefted Michael into his arms, holding him much like his father was Danny. Michael was too old for it, but Sam didn’t care, glad that his height was coming in handy again. It was evidence of how traumatized Michael was that he didn’t protest and just laid his head on Sam’s shoulder.

“I know he usually doesn’t like to fly, but DeeDee’s on a lot of medicine right now and probably won’t care,” Sam reassured the boy. He looked at his dad. “I promised Dean I’d be there when he woke up.”

John nodded. “I think Liddy and the boys better come with us. I’ve made a few calls, but it’ll be a little while before reinforcements show up.”

Sam nodded. The local law enforcement was involved in the search for the attacker, but they weren’t prepared to handle someone like Gordon Walker. Until then, the family stayed together. Shifting Michael until he was supporting him with one arm, he reached over and smoothed Danny’s hair. Danny didn’t move and, looking closer, Sam could see that his youngest was fast asleep. No doubt the stress had worn him out.

“Who’s coming?” Sam asked, heading for the door. The others followed closely.

“I got hold of Bobby, he’s on the way already,” John stated. “Joshua can’t come and I haven’t had a chance to try and get hold of Ellen.” Even after her help in fighting the demon, John’s relationship with the woman was rocky, nor had the trouble with Jo helped matters.

“Leave it for now,” Sam instructed him. When his father looked at him in surprise, he explained. “Ten years ago, Gordon had a contact in the Roadhouse hunting community and we never found out who it was. Until we know more, I’m going to be choosey about who we trust.”

For the moment, finding Gordon Walker would have to take a back seat to Dean’s condition. That wouldn’t last forever, though, and when he had the chance, Sam had every intention of hunting Gordon down like the crazy dog that he was.

And then there would be reckoning. 

Sam hugged one son close to him and looked over at the other. His husband was badly injured and both of their children were traumatized in ways that were only beginning to show.

Oh, yeah. There would be one hell of a reckoning.

~to be continued in Prey – Part 4~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted January 24, 2007


	34. Prey - Part 4

St Peter, the cozy college town they lived in, was about an hour’s drive from Minneapolis. Normally that distance suited Sam just fine. The big city was near enough for things like museums and professional sports games, but not close enough to intrude on the small town feeling that both brothers enjoyed. At the moment, rushing to catch up with the helicopter taking Dean to the hospital, the distance was torture. His brother would likely be in surgery before Sam got there. It couldn’t be helped, but Sam hated it anyway. He would just have to be content with keeping his promise and making sure he was there when Dean woke up.

They decided to take John’s SUV. On the walk out to the vehicle, Sam found out that Michael had been too distraught to give a statement to the police, but had managed to give them a good description of the attacker. Now, on the way to the big city, John drove and Liddy sat in the passenger’s seat, while Sam road in the back with the kids. It would have been more convenient to take two cars, but the family didn’t want to be split up, not to mention that Gordon Walker was still out there.

Sam sat in the middle of his boys. Michael was tall enough that he didn’t require a booster seat anymore. He had a seat belt on, but had scooted as close to Sam as he could get. Sam had his hand on Michael’s dark head and stroked his son’s hair slowly. It was hard to tell who found the motion more soothing, Sam or Michael. Danny did still need a booster seat and hadn’t wakened during the transfer from his grandfather’s arms into the vehicle. Sam was relieved. His youngest was obviously deeply traumatized by what had happened and hopefully the sleep would be restorative. Sam could only hope that if his son had any dreams, that they were happy ones. If not, then at least Sam’d be near enough to wake him out of them.

The boys were finally somewhat settled, but the travel arrangements made it difficult for the adults to talk without disturbing them. By an unspoken agreement, conversation was scarce. That was fine by Sam. He had a lot to think about and, more importantly, plans to make. Gordon Walker was still out there, but he wouldn’t be for long, if Sam had anything to say about it. First, though, Sam had to see that his family was taken care of. The bastard was not getting another chance at either his boys or his mate and with Dean down for the count, that meant protecting them was up to Sam. It wasn’t that he was discounting his father or the assistance John no doubt would supply, but seeing Dean injured and his sons terrified had woken something primal in Sam. Something that Gordon Walker would have been better not to rouse.

Finally, they got there and in just under an hour too. It had only felt longer. John had sworn under his breath about the traffic, but for once Michael didn’t gleefully collect the fee for the Swear Jar.

Minnesota was home to the world-renown Mayo Clinic and University of Minnesota hospital system, but the Hennepin County Medical Center had more experience with gunshot trauma and that was where Dean had been taken. As they piled out of the SUV and headed inside, Sam refused to let his father carry the still-sleeping Danny. HCMC, as it was known to the locals, took up a city block. Its size was formidable, but so was Sam’s determination. 

With his youngest asleep against his shoulder and his oldest firmly by the hand, Sam went in search of Dean. He highly doubted that Gordon Walker had arrived ahead of them, although there was no doubt in Sam’s mind that the man was still hunting their family. It wouldn’t be difficult for Walker to discover where Dean had been transported for treatment, but it would take him a little time to ferret out that information. Not only that, but it would also take him longer to make the same drive. Thanks to Michael’s description, the man had the local police to elude. Even so, Sam stayed on guard and he was pleased to note that his father did the same. Walker had caught them unawares once; it was unlikely to happen again.

With the assistance of a series of hospital volunteers, Sam found the trauma unit that Dean had been taken to. Leaving the kids with his father and stepmother on an empty couch in the busy waiting room, Sam checked in at the desk.

“My husband was airlifted in a little while ago,” Sam told the administrative nurse. “His name is Dean Winchester.”

She checked her computer console for Dean’s status. “Yes, here he is. He arrived in stable condition and is on his way to surgery.”

“Already?” Sam asked, dismayed. It was the expected outcome, but disappointing nonetheless. And a little bit frightening too. Just a couple of hours ago Dean had been playing with their kids in the park and now he was on an operating table. The enormity of the situation was beginning to catch up with Sam.

The nurse looked at him in sympathy. “Dr. Logan was the attending physician. I can have him come out and talk to you if you’d like.”

Sam gave her a wan smile. “That’d be great, thanks.”

Too agitated to sit, Sam paced while he waited for the doctor. John and Liddy gave him questioning looks, but he just shrugged. It was only a few minutes, though, before yet another man in a white coat came out to talk to him.

“Mr. Winchester?”

“Yes,” Sam was at the man’s side in two strides. “Dean Winchester is my husband.”

The doctor took Sam by the arm and pulled him a few feet away. It wasn’t much privacy, but in a way, that was comforting. Surely the physician wasn’t going to give him bad news in the middle of a waiting room.

“I think Paula told you that your husband is in surgery?” When Sam nodded, he continued. “Mr. Winchester’s condition when he arrived was good, considering that he’d been shot twice. The lung inflation, though, was failing. That’s not unexpected, given that the bullet was still inside and the wound open, but it was in his best interests to get the damage repaired as soon as possible.”

Sam took a shaky breath. “Then his chances are good?”

The doctor, whom Sam assumed was the Dr. Logan the nurse had named, smiled openly. “Oh, I’d say his chances are excellent. There are no guarantees in medicine, but barring unforeseen complications, I don’t see any reason why your husband shouldn’t come through the surgery just fine. Dr. Mendoza is one of our finest surgeons and, unfortunately, she’s had all too much experience with gunshot wounds.” 

“That’s wonderful news,” Sam breathed a sigh of relief. When he realized how his words sounded, though, he hastened to clarify. “I mean, it’s not wonderful that a lot of people around here are getting shot, but it’s great that Dean’s going to be okay.”

Dr. Logan held up a hand. “No apology necessary, Mr. Winchester, I’m sure you’ve been through a lot. I do need to caution you, however, that sometimes complications can crop up. We’ll do our best to prevent them from happening, though. Your husband will still be facing some physical therapy for his leg and pulmonary therapy to work on his lung capacity, but we can discuss that later.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Sam grabbed the man’s hand and pumped it heartily. “Thank you so much.”

Dr. Logan redirected Sam’s attention to Paula, so she could explain where the family should wait. Sam gave his dad a thumb’s up signal before turning his attention to the nurse.

“Good news, huh?” She asked with a smile.

“Best I’ve had so far,” Sam replied. “Although he’s not out of the woods yet.”

“Well, Dr. Mendoza is one of our best surgeons and she served two tours in Iraq, so she’s got more experience than some with that kind of wound,” Paula told him. “If I ever got shot, she’s the one I’d want patching me back up again.”

The reassurance helped. “Thanks,” Sam said.

“No problem, your husband really is in the best of hands. The surgery, though, is going to take a few hours.” She nodded to where the rest of the Winchesters waited. “And your little guys looked wiped out. You don’t have to wait here. I’ll give you a pager and you can go anywhere in the hospital without worrying about missing anything.”

”That would be great,” Sam thanked her. Getting some food into the boys might help. If, that was, he could get them to eat. It wasn’t that either boy was particularly finicky, but distressed children usually meant distressed appetites.

Paula handed him a square pager that was just like the type that were popular with restaurants. Sam looked at it askance; he’d expected something a little more dignified or medical looking. Or something.

“Yeah, I know, it looks like you’re waiting for a table at Applebee’s,” she chuckled at his expression. “But don’t knock it. It works.”

Sam took it from her gingerly. “Thanks.”

“Cafeteria is two floors down. Take the elevator that’s down this hall,” she instructed. “And if they’re serving the spaghetti, try it. It’s better than it looks.”

Distracted, Sam nodded and smiled his thanks. He walked slowly back to his family. They all looked at him so expectantly that he didn’t need to be asked before he started giving them an update.

“Dean’s in surgery, but his doctor says that everything looks really good,” Sam explained. “It’s going to be a while, though, so we might as well get something to eat.”

“But I don’t want to leave DeeDee,” Michael protested.

“Don’t worry, we have this,” Sam held up the pager. “They’ll let us know the minute he gets out of surgery or if anything changes.”

Sam woke Danny up before the headed down to the cafeteria, knowing it would be best to let the little boy wake up a little before trying to get him to eat something. Danny yawned and rubbed his eyes.

“Hey there, Slugger,” Sam crouched so he could be on his son’s eye level. “We’re going to go get something to eat. You hungry?”

Danny shook his head, but Sam wasn’t discouraged. It was the first response he’d gotten out of the child since reuniting with the boys after the attack. Danny was still silent, but he no longer had the vacant look of pure shock.

“Well, I want you to try to anyway,” Sam instructed. He stood and took Danny’s hand. He felt Michael’s slip into his other and he smiled down at his oldest. “Come on, this place is like a maze. You guys have to help me find the food.”

The family made their way to the cafeteria, although it took all five of them to navigate their way there. Once they found the place, figuring out the food stations was another challenge. Sam was pleased to see that there were a lot of comfort-type foods, although given that hospitals tended to be places that generated a lot of need for comfort, that made sense.

It was dinner time when they got there and the cafeteria was humming with activity. The boys stayed plastered to Sam’s side, something that he didn’t discourage in the least. John and Liddy followed closely, as though equally frightened to let the younger Winchesters out of view. That didn’t bother Sam a bit, either. At the moment, there was safety to be had in numbers and he intended to make the most of it.

“What do you want?” Sam asked his kids. The three of them were sharing a tray and were in front of the hot food station. “There’s pizza and chicken fingers. Or, look, macaroni and cheese.” He looked down at the four year-old. “Danny, does anything look good?”

It took the little boy a long time to respond and Sam ignored the mumbles from those people waiting in line behind them. John was between them and the other cafeteria patrons, though, and while Sam waited for Danny to answer, he was vaguely aware of the rumble of his father’s voice. It made him smile inside to know that his dad had his back, even if this situation.

Finally, Danny’s hand lifted and he pointed at the macaroni and cheese. The simple action made Sam feel like whooping, but he restrained himself.

“Good choice,” he said instead. “Michael, how about you?”

“Mac and cheese, please,” the other boy said.

Sam nodded. “Sounds good.” He raised his voice so the woman behind the counter could hear him. “We’ll take three of the macaroni and cheese, please.”

“Make that five.”

He turned to stare at his father. John blushed and looked sheepish. “I guess we could all use some comfort food.”

In short order, the family had found a table in a quiet corner. Sam had even found packets of Tabasco sauce in the condiments section and soon had the boys plates fixed up the way they liked.

“I do not know how you can eat that with hot sauce on it,” Liddy said, nose wrinkled in distaste. “I swear, Winchester men must have stomachs lined with lead.”

“That’s because we had to eat our own cooking for so long,” John answered. “Although, mac and cheese is pretty hard to screw up.”

Michael started eating right away, which was a relief, but Danny just stared at his plate. With a grunt, Sam lifted the four year-old into his lap and fed him a fork full of macaroni. Danny ate it without complaint, but that wasn’t necessarily a good sign. Danny was usually an independent child, one of the first phrases he’d ever uttered was ‘Danny do it.’ Still, at least he was eating.

The meal proceeded in silence. Michael ate methodically, but without any pleasure, and the adults didn’t fare much better. Sam alternated between taking a bite himself and feeding one to Danny. The silence was oppressive and Sam couldn’t help but think that Dean would hate to see his family like this. Even more, he would hate knowing that he was the cause.

It was an effort, but Sam made himself chuckle. When the rest of family looked at him like he was nuts, Sam just smiled.

“Do you remember that time last winter when Dean was heating up mac and cheese in the microwave and forgot to poke holes in the plastic wrap?” Sam asked. “And it exploded?”

John figured out quickly what he was up to. “He made me bring over fresh holy water to clean it with.”

Michael giggled. “DeeDee said the microwave was possessed.”

“Now, be kind,” Liddy admonished them, smiling, but looking guilty about it. “Dean had a cold and was under the influence of Nyquil.”

“He didn’t have that excuse this summer when we had that picnic,” Sam retorted.

John lifted one eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“Dean and I drove the boys out into the country for a picnic, but it started raining. So we decided to eat in the Impala,” Sam explained. “The boys wanted to know why it rained, so I was explaining that the ecosystem was God’s way of making sure the plants and animals got enough to drink.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Liddy commented.

“Yeah, except Dean got impatient with my explanation,” Sam countered. “He interrupted me and told the boys that the rain was the angels taking a . . . potty break.”

“Except he used a different word,” Michael giggled again. “DaSa made DeeDee put twenty dollars in the Swear Jar. One for the bad word and the rest for being incur. . . what was it you called him, DaSa?”

“Incorrigible,” Sam answered, enunciating carefully. “It means someone who’s strong-willed and doesn’t change easily.” He hugged Danny briefly. “And that’s not always a bad thing. That means your DeeDee is tough. I know it’s scary right now, but I have to believe he’s going to be all right.”

“I remember when your dad was about Danny’s age,” John chimed in. That got even Danny’s attention. The boys loved stories about their parents when they were kids. “I was teaching him to ride a bike and he took a nasty spill.” John smiled. “I thought I’d have to talk him into getting on it again, but it ended up that I didn’t need to. He wanted right back on.” His smile turned into a full-blown grin. “Of course, he kicked the bike first.”

Sam chuckled and relaxed a little as Liddy added a story of her own. This was better. Sharing happy memories about the man they all loved was much healthier, in his opinion, than sitting around, sick with worry. Dean would scoff at the notion of good vibes, but Sam believed in them or, at least, figured that it couldn’t hurt.

And, with a little luck, soon they’d be able to create a whole new set of happy memories.

~to be continued in Prey – part 5~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted January 25, 2007


	35. Prey - Part 5

Coming back to the waiting room was almost anticlimactic. The pager hadn’t gone off, but after they’d finished dinner, the whole family just felt more comfortable being closer to Dean. Or, at least, closer to where they would get news of Dean.

After checking in at the desk to make sure there was no new developments where his husband was concerned, Sam settled the boys in a nook that was geared for children. It had toys and a DVD player. In fact, Danny’s favorite movie had been released on DVD a few weeks earlier and the hospital had a copy. It was just beginning to play. Sam had watched the damn thing more times than he wanted to count, but was glad to see it now. It was the latest Disney animated feature, about a baby dragon that grew up thinking it was a cat, and if anything could distract Danny, "Puffy Cat" could. Even Michael settled in to watch, although at home he protested that it was too babyish for him.

Not quite half an hour later, Sam noticed a small group come in. It was the police uniform that caught his attention and, once he took a close look, he recognized a police officer from the attack scene. Catching his father’s eye, he jerked his head towards the boys, silently asking him to keep an eye on the kids. After John nodded, Sam got up, shifting Danny from his lap to the chair. The boy was so engrossed in the movie that he didn’t even notice.

Sam got up to the desk by the time the receptionist pointed him out. 

“I’m Sam Winchester,” he said as the trio turned to look at him.

“Hello again, Mr. Winchester,” the officer said. Sam recognized him as the one who’d promised to take word to John that Sam was going with the ambulance. “We didn’t get a chance to be formally introduced before. I’m Officer Nick Cummins.” When Sam nodded, the man went on to introduce the others. “This is Sheriff Paulson, from the Nicollet County sheriff’s office and Dr. Colleen Walsh, on loan from Minneapolis. She’s a child trauma specialist.”

Sam nodded. “Any word on the bastard who attacked my husband?”

“I’m afraid not,” the sheriff answered. “Your son, Michael, gave us an excellent description and we have teams out searching, but it would be helpful if we could get a more complete statement from your boys about what happened.”

“If, that is, they’re ready for it,” Dr. Walsh interjected, giving the sheriff a quelling look. “After such sudden violence, they may not be able to.”

“Danny’s not,” Sam stated firmly. “He’s only four and he’s pretty shaken up about what happened. He hasn’t spoken since.”

“We have some resources that might be able to help,” Walsh replied. “I’d highly recommend counseling for both of them.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Sam commented. “Right now, we’re focused on finding out if their dad survives.” He sighed and rubbed a hand against his face. “Look, I might need to ask you to come back later.”

“I want to do it, DaSa.”

Surprised, Sam turned to the voice and found Michael standing next to him. The boy’s eyes were fixed on the officers and he had a determined look on his face. 

“I want to help them find the man who hurt DeeDee,” Michael repeated.

Michael normally reminded most people of Sam. Not only did he had his younger father’s dark hair, but his gift of empathy caused him to be sensitive, even more so than Sam. But Michael had two fathers and, at the moment, was wearing a stubborn expression that was worthy of Dean at his finest. 

“All right,” Sam agreed quietly.

With the help of the hospital personnel, Sam and his son were settled in a small consultation room. Thankfully, it was close enough that Danny’s gift would still keep Michael’s empathy from kicking in. A hospital was the last place that Sam wanted his son exposed to the emotions of other people.

The room had a small table, which was surrounded by chairs. Sam and his son sat on one side, while the law enforcement personnel all sat on the other, headed up by Dr. Walsh. It was clear that the child trauma specialist was supposed to handle the questioning, even though the sheriff was in charge.

“Just tell us what happened,” Dr. Walsh encouraged him. “Just like you were telling the story to your best friend.”

Sam took his son’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “You can do it, Michael. I know you can.”

Michael nodded and took a deep breath. “DeeDee took me and Danny and the dogs to the park. The one on Oak Street, it’s the best.”

”Was anyone else there?” the sheriff asked eagerly. “Did you notice anyone hanging around? Didn’t you see anything unusual?”

Shaking his head, Michael answered. “No, but I wasn’t looking.” His expression turned sheepish. “We were just excited about the fort. We wanted to play pirates.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Dr. Walsh assured him, glaring at the sheriff for interrupting and upsetting the boy. “Playing is what you went there to do, so nobody thinks it’s weird if you didn’t notice anyone else.” She smiled at him encouragingly. “So you were playing and then what happened?”

”We didn’t get to play long,” Michael continued. “Then DeeDee said we had to go.”

”Did he say why?” The doctor questioned.

“No, but he had that tight voice,” Michael explained. “The one he uses when he’s worried, but he doesn’t want anyone to know he’s worried.” He turned towards his father. “You know, like when we were playing hide and seek this summer and Danny hid on the roof.”

Sam nodded. He remembered that particular episode well. After searching for nearly twenty minutes, they hadn’t been able to find the boy anywhere and both fathers had become worried, particularly since Danny didn’t come out to gloat even when everyone admitted defeat. Finally, Joxer had given it away, barking incessantly at a corner of the house until Sam had investigated. Danny had been on the roof, crouched by the chimney. He’d made as if to run to the edge when he’d been discovered, but Dean had talked him out of it until Sam could get to the child, using a voice that was gentle, yet full of authority and, yes, tight with worry.

“DeeDee told us we’d have to run when he told us to, but then he fell down.” Michael started blinking rapidly and Sam wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “He told us to run, but he was bleeding.”

“And did you hear anything before your. . .DeeDee,” she stumbled over the strange world. “Fell? Anything that sounded like a firecracker or a pop or something?”

“No,” Michael shook his head. “Nothing. DeeDee just fell. And then a rock or something hit the tree next to me.”

Sam saw the officers exchange glances and knew what they were thinking. Gordon had used a silencer, the fact immediately lifting him from the ranks of a typical criminal. Silencers were hardly common outside of the movies.

“And can you tell me what happened next?” Dr. Walsh asked gently. It was obvious that the boy was getting to the most upsetting part of his story.

“A man came. . . came out of the woods. Danny and I ran, ‘cause DeeDee told us to, but Danny slipped and the man grabbed him. Danny kicked him, but the man wouldn’t let go and DeeDee told me to stay away.”

This was the tricky part. Sam hadn’t coached Michael on what to say, deciding to let the chips fall where they may. If Michael said anything that would indicate that Gordon and Dean knew each other, then he had a cover story ready. And if not, well, he wasn’t going to let the police in on that little secret, knowing it would complicate matters unnecessarily.

“The man said he didn’t want to scare us and. . . and that it would be quick.” Michael swallowed and looked down, missing the expressions of anger on all four adults’ faces. “He said we were freaks and monsters, ‘cause of who our DaSa was.”

Michael’s voice had gotten very thin and particularly young sounding. Sam reached over and pulled the boy into his lap, giving the officers a defiant look that dared them to say anything. He stroked his son’s head and murmured to him softly until he felt Michael begin to calm.

“Michael, do you want to continue?” Dr. Walsh asked gently. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Pulling his head out where he hidden it against Sam’s chest, Michael sniffed and shook his head. “No, I wanna help.”

“You’re doing a great job,” Officer Cummins told him. “I have a boy a little older than you and I don’t think he’d do nearly as well as you’re doing. Your fathers must be very proud of you.”

”Very proud,” Sam stated firmly.

Michael gulped. “DeeDee asked the man not to hurt us, to hurt him instead.”

Sam closed his eyes in pain. It was an offer he would have made himself if he’d been the one in that situation, but the thought of Dean on his knees begging for their children’s lives made Sam faintly ill.

“The man said no and I think. . . I think he was gonna hurt Danny, but Joxer came.” Michael was panting. “Joxer jumped on him and was biting him and biting him.”

“It’s okay,” Sam murmured, feeling his son trembling at the memory. “Uncle Bobby trained Joxer to be a guard dog. He was just doing his job and protecting you from a bad guy.”

“Joxer sounds like a good dog,” Officer Cummins said quietly.

“The best,” Sam agreed.

Michael wiped his nose with his sleeve, but for once Sam didn’t chastise him for having bad manners. Dr. Walsh silently slid a box of tissues across the table and Sam smiled at her wanly. He took a couple and cleaned his son’s face gently.

“And then what happened?” Dr. Walsh prompted carefully. “When Joxer jumped on the bad man, what did the bad man do?”

“He dropped Danny and fell down,” Michael told her. “And DeeDee, he told us to run again.” He looked at each adult in turn, as though seeking the adults’ approval. “He said we had to go where there were people and tell them there was a man trying to hurt us.” So. . . so we ran.” He looked at Officer Cummins. “And you came and then DaSa came.”

It was obvious that the boy had reached his limit. Michael sat on Sam’s lap, legs dangling off the side. He hid his face in Sam’s chest and Sam wrapped his arms protectively around the boy, murmuring about how proud he was. After a few minutes, Michael calmed again and was able to face the others in the room.

“I think,” Dr. Walsh said solemnly, “that you are a very brave boy. You did exactly what you should have and got help to your DeeDee when he needed it.”

“I did?” Michael asked. “It wasn’t. . . I wasn’t a scaredy cat for running?”

“You took care of your little brother,” Sam reminded him. “That’s exactly what DeeDee wanted you to do and you did it perfectly.

”That’s right,” the lady doctor agreed firmly. “You did absolutely nothing wrong, Michael.”

“In fact, I have something for you and your brother too,” Officer Cummins interjected.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a small, leather case. He opened it, revealing a miniature badge. “We only give these out to citizens who are extra, special brave. You both deserve one.”

“What you told us will help us find the man who hurt your dad,” Sheriff Paulson added. “Thank you.”

Michael accepted the badge and sniffed. “Thanks. . . but I’d rather have DeeDee.”

“Of course you would,” Officer Cummins replied with an understanding smile. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a very brave boy.”

“Are you gonna find the bad man?” Michael asked them, leaning forward eagerly.

“Absolutely,” the sheriff promised. “We’ve got lots of people looking for him now.”

”When you do,” Michael asked. “Are you gonna shoot him?”

”Michael!” Sam protested, surprised. Michael was normally the most gentle of children.

“Just a little?” Michael asked hopefully, ignoring his father’s reaction.

Sheriff Paulson looked stern when he replied. “We’re the good guys, son. We don’t shoot people just because we want to.” He looked at Sam. “Mr. Winchester, I was wondering if I could talk to you alone for a minute.”

“Are you okay, Mikey?” Sam asked, slipping into his brother’s nickname for the boy.

“Yeah,” Michael said quietly. “Can I go help Officer Cummins give Danny his badge?”

“Sure,” Sam let the child slip off his lap, but he stopped his son with a hand to his chest. “But we’re going to talk about that shooting comment later.”

“Yes, DaSa,” Michael sounded submissive enough, but the jut of his chin showed he was far from contrite.

Officer Cummins and Dr. Walsh accompanied Michael out of the room and Sam sighed. A blood-thirsty eight year-old was not going to help things.

“Mr. Winchester, it seems obvious from Michael’s testimony that this was a hate crime,” Sheriff Paulson said as soon as the door was closed. “Had you and your husband been receiving any threats? Do you know of anyone who might want to hurt you or your children?”

Sam shrugged. “No, nothing like that. I teach at the university and they have pretty strict rules about harassment. Dean’s an electrician and I think he’s had some problems, but nothing major.”

“What kind of problems?” the sheriff persisted.

“Just petty stuff, a comment here or there, that’s about it.” Sam smiled tightly. “Dean’s pretty intimidating, so it didn’t last long. Especially once he established himself in his work. If there’s been anything lately, he hasn’t mentioned it.”

“When he’s able to, we’d like to talk to him.” Paulson stated. “Your son might not have recognized the attacker, but your husband might have. We’ll need his side of the story.”

“Of course,” Sam replied.

The sheriff scratched at the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable with what he was about to say. “The dog that your son mentioned, was it a boxer?”

“Yes.” Sam felt a stab of guilt. He’d been focused on Dean when he finally got to the crime scene that he’d totally forgotten about the dogs and now it seemed as though he owed his family’s lives to one of them. “I take it he didn’t make it?”

”No,” Sheriff Paulson sighed explosively. “We found the body in the park. If it helps, your pup gave that bastard a hell of a fight. It’d been shot and stabbed.” He looked even more uncomfortable. “Was there another dog too? A white one?”

Sam knew what was coming and hated it. He’d known when Michael didn’t mention Xena during his description of what had happened that their other pet was probably already dead. “Yes, a bitch.”

“I was afraid of that,” Paulson admitted. “We found her a couple hundred feet away. She’d been shot.” His face hardened. “If nothing else, killing the dog that way shows that this was premeditated. When we catch the animal that did this, we’ll be able to put him away for a long time.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” Sam said to the other man. “And thanks for not bringing it up in front of Michael. Right now he’s worried about his dad, but eventually both of the boys will think to ask about the dogs.” His laugh didn’t have any humor in it. “I’ll have to figure out something to tell them.”

“Maybe I can help,” Sheriff Paulson offered. “The county has a canine unit and word’s already gotten around about what your dog did for your family. They told me to tell you that they’re going to take care of the dogs. The coroner will need to examine the bodies and retrieve any bullets, but after that we’ll see them cremated and get the ashes to you.” He looked sympathetic. “Maybe if it’ll give your boys some closure, we could do a ceremony or something.

Sam blinked away sudden tears. Kindness could be found even in the worst of situations. “Thanks.”

With a friendly slap on the arm, Sheriff Paulson headed out. “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Winchester.”

After taking a moment to compose himself, Sam went back into the waiting room. The sheriff had joined his colleagues and the trio were headed for the door. Danny and Michael were showing their badges to their grandparents. When John saw Sam standing watching them, he ruffled Danny’s hair and stood, meandering over to join his son.

“You okay, Sam?”

Sam took a shaky breath. “Yeah.”

John clearly didn’t believe him. “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours, son.”

“What do you mean?” Sam stalled.

“I know you’re worried about your brother; we all are,” John stated. “But Gordon Walker’s still out there and you know as well as I do that the locals don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of catching him.”

“The sheriff thinks it’s a hate crime,” Sam told his father.

“Good, because it was,” John agreed. “Just not the kind of hate crime they think it was.” He leaned forward to speak intently, but still quietly enough that no one could overhear. “You won’t let me call anyone else in on this, but I know how smart you are. You can worry about Dean and still do plenty of planning. What do you have in mind?”

“I don’t know,” Sam answered honestly. “It’s still percolating. I just know that Gordon’s obviously been planning this for a while now. Jumping into anything without knowing what we’re getting into would be a mistake.”

”So for now, we do nothing,” John sounded resigned. Given the decades the man had spent tracking down the demon that had killed his first wife, waiting was something he had all too much experience in.

“For now,” Sam agreed. “Just until Dean’s better.”

And then, right on cue, the pager started to buzz.

~to be continued in Prey – part 6~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted January 26, 2007


	36. Prey - Part 6

Sam was almost glad that intensive care units didn’t allow children to visit. There was no way the boys should see Dean so. . . diminished. 

After being paged, Sam and John had spoken with the surgeon, Dr. Mendoza, who had been pleased with how well Dean had come through the operation. Infection was always a concern, but barring that, Dean’s prognosis was for a full recovery. Sam had been allowed into the recovery room for only a few moments and then only because Sam shamelessly exploited the fact that his husband had been injured protecting two small children. Shameless or not, Sam had been there when Dean’s eyes opened and he was able to reassure his brother that everything was okay. Dean was so doped up that Sam doubted he would remember it later, but Sam would. Being able to keep his promise was a rare bright spot in a seriously crappy day.

While they waited for Dean to be moved to a room, John and Sam had debated about what they should do. Splitting up was dangerous, but the boys were drooping and desperately needed somewhere quiet to rest and to start to deal with what had happened. They couldn’t go home; that was a given. And neither was Sam willing to leave Dean alone at the hospital.

Ultimately, it was decided that John and Liddy would take the children to a hotel. There were many of them in the downtown area and John would pick one that had valet service. That way, the family would go straight from the SUV into the hotel, with no dark parking garages to risk, in case Gordon had made it to Minneapolis, was staking out the hospital and followed them. All of the Winchester men carried an emergency credit card, one in a name that couldn’t be traced back to them, and John would use his to book them a room on a high floor. After the family was safely ensconced for the night, he’d call and let Sam know where.

First, though, John had a need to see his boy. Michael and Danny were quite put out that they couldn’t go in to see their father, but even had the hospital allowed it, Sam wouldn’t have. Not only would it traumatize them further, but when Dean got better and found out about it, Sam’s ass would be in a sling. Once Dean was settled and visitors allowed, both Sam and his father went in. Dean was propped partially on his side to take the pressure off his wounded back and was on a ventilator. He was as pale as the sheets he lay on, his freckles dominating a still face normally alive with personality.

“Dear God,” John whispered hoarsely.

Sam agreed with the sentiment, but had seen Dean in the recovery room and so was a little better prepared. “Dr. Mendoza said he won’t be on the ventilator long. Maybe not even all night.”

John nodded, even though he’d heard the doctor’s report the same time Sam had and it wasn’t exactly new information. He shambled to the side of his oldest child’s bed and deliberately leaned down and kissed Dean on the forehead.

“You did good, Dean.” He told the unconscious man in a choked voice. “You did real good.”

Sam tried not to feel jealous as it became obvious that his father needed a few moments alone with Dean. “Look, I’m going to go say good night to the boys.”

John nodded, but his gaze never strayed from his older son’s face. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Sam went back into the waiting room. Liddy was sitting on the couch with a boy pressed to either side. Sam smiled at the sight. He didn’t know what a mother was supposed to be like, but Liddy was one hell of a stepmother, not to mention a great step-grandmother.

“DaSa?” Michael asked, blinking sleepily. It was early yet, but had been a long day for both boys.

“Everything’s fine, Michael,” Sam reassured him. “DeeDee’s sleeping and Grandpa wanted to sit with him for a minute.”

“We could stay here tonight,” Michael suggested as he got up and stood by his father. “And have a sleep over on the couches.” 

Sam shook his head. “I’m sorry, buddy, but no. You’re going with your grandpa and Liddy and get some sleep in a real bed.”

Michael teared up. “But I don’t want to leave DeeDee, like I left him in the park.”

“You didn’t leave him,” Sam sighed. He had a feeling he’d be repeating this a lot, but was determined to give the reassurance as many times as necessary. Maybe when Dean was awake and able to tell Michael the same thing, the boy would finally be able to believe it. “You did what your father told you to do. You did exactly right. Officer Cummins said so and so does Grandpa and so do I.”

“But I want to stay,” Michael continued to protest. He was almost whining, which was something the boy rarely did.

Danny had been dozing against Liddy, but Michael’s distress disturbed him. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up on the couch and gazed at his brother, worry clearly written on his little face. The sight gave Sam an idea. It was something he’d sworn never to do with Michael, but the circumstances were extreme.

“I need you to go with Grandpa and Liddy,” Sam repeated. “Remember, you have to help look out for Danny. He’s littler than you and you can help him feel safe.”

While Sam watched, Michael stood straighter and his tears died up. It was amazing, how giving the boy a purpose calmed him. Even though his relationship with John was now solid, for years Sam had resented the fact that his father had placed so much responsibility on Dean for Sam’s care. For the first time, Sam began to consider that perhaps that hadn’t been because John was too busy on the hunt to care for Sammy, but that maybe part of it was simply that Dean had needed a task to do.

“I can do that, DaSa,” Michael assured him.

“Good boy,” Sam hugged him with one arm and held out the other arm for Danny. The four year-old wiggled out of Liddy’s embrace and joined the hug.

By the time John joined them in the waiting room, both boys were ready to go.

“Be careful,” Sam cautioned his father as he saw them off.

“I almost hope the sorry bastard does come after us,” John’s hands clenched and unclenched. “I would give a year of my life to have a piece of him.”

“There’ll be time for that,” Sam warned, glancing meaningfully at the kids. “Just. . . be careful and no theatrics.”

John smiled. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m trusting you with the most precious things in my life,” Sam reminded him, not pleased with how flippant that last comment had been. “Their safety comes before any revenge.”

“That I do know, son,” John reassured him, pulling Sam in for a quick hug. 

It wasn’t until he felt his father’s arms around him that Sam realized how desperately he needed a hug. He leaned into his father’s embrace for a moment before letting go and gently pushing his dad towards the others.

“You okay?” John asked, concerned.

“I’m fine,” Sam told him. “Just tired. Go and call me when you’re in a room.”

“Will do.”

Sam waved until his family disappeared into the elevator, then he turned and made his way back to his brother’s room. Dean’s condition hadn’t changed. He was being sedated to make the ventilator more tolerable and, for that mercy, Sam was glad. With a sigh, he folded his long body into the chair next to Dean’s bed and prepared himself to wait.

Dr. Mendoza was right, Dean was weaned off the ventilator by the end of the evening. Sam, who’d been sitting at his brother’s side, was kicked out of the room for the procedure and took that opportunity to run down to the cafeteria for a snack. By the time he got back, Dean was breathing on his own, although he had an oxygen mask on and was still asleep. It would take a few more hours before he would awaken from being sedated.

Sam had been relieved that his father had called right on schedule, although his eyebrows went up as John told him the hotel they were in. It was a swanky place, where Dean and Sam had gone in January for an overnight celebration of Sam reaching tenure status at the school. Sam felt bad about charging it to a fake credit card, but his children’s safety came first.

One of the skills Sam had learned growing up was sleeping on hospital chairs. He didn’t try to see if he still could do it, though. As Sam sat by Dean’s bedside in the dimmed room, his mind was racing with plans and permutations of scenarios. Was Gordon working alone or did he still have a contact at the Roadhouse? Which of the hunters could they trust? Would it be in the children’s best interest to send them away? Towards morning, he realized that Dean was stirring and strategy fell by the wayside. Sam sat up abruptly and reached for Dean’s hand.

“Dean. Dean, can you hear me?” Sam called softly. He softly stroked Dean’s hair back from his face. “It’s okay, you’re in the hospital. The boys are safe, Dean. You’re going to be fine.”

Sam kept up the quiet patter of words until he saw Dean’s eyes crack open. He grinned hugely at the first sliver of green, leaning forward so that Dean could see him.

“Hey there, babe,” Sam felt like he’d break his mouth, grinning. “Took you long enough.”

“S-sam?”

Dean’s voice was dry and cracked. The nurses had told Sam that he could give Dean some ice chips when he woke up, but Sam wanted to make sure that his brother was awake enough for that. The last thing that Dean needed was to choke. 

Gently, Sam stroked a fingertip against Dean’s cheek. “Shhh. . . . I’m right here.”

Sam could literally see the calming effect his presence had. Dean relaxed and closed his eyes.

It lasted for all of three seconds and then Dean remembered.

“G-g-g. . .” Panicked, Dean tried to sit up, causing all sorts of alarms to go off. Dean ignored them, reaching for his brother and desperate to get Sam to understand.

“Dean, calm down,” Sam tried to soothe him. “I know about Gordon; the kids are okay. The boys are all right, Dean.”

The small room was suddenly full of nurses. One of them had the misfortune to try and pull Sam away from his brother.

“Mr. Winchester, you have to leave now,” she ordered. “Mr. Winchester! We’ll call security.”

“Back off, lady,” Sam rounded on her with all the frustration that had been building up all day. “He got hurt saving our children’s lives, okay? Just let me get him to understand that they’re safe and he’ll be fine.”

Dr. Mendoza came in and took charge of the situation. Sam was barely aware of her running interference for him. Instead, all of his focus was on his brother. Sam turned back to Dean and started speaking to him gently in a firm voice that he hoped would cut through Dean’s panic.

“Michael and Danny are safe, Dean,” Sam repeated. “You did it, they’re safe. The boys are fine, Dean. Just fine. Everyone’s safe.”

Finally, his words penetrated and Dean collapsed back onto the bed, gasping behind the oxygen mask. Dr. Mendoza came forward as soon as Sam would allow and quietly checked his vitals. Sam gave her room to work, but refused to completely leave Dean’s side. He kept one hand on Dean’s nearest hand and the other wiped away the tears that fell from Dean’s eyes.

“I promise, Dean, they’re okay,” Sam felt like crying himself. “There’s not a scratch on either one of them. You did good,” he echoed his father’s words to Dean from earlier. “You did real good. Michael and Danny are safe.”

“Sam,” Dr. Mendoza said quietly. “Your husband absolutely cannot afford to do that again. The injury to his lung puts a strain on his hearrt and that kind of emotional outburst is only going to make things worse.”

“I’ll keep him quiet, I promise,” Sam vowed. “Now that he knows that the kids are safe, he’ll be fine.”

“All right,” she patted Sam on the arm. “I’ll trust you to keep him calm, but if something sets him off again, you have to let the nurses do their job.” She turned to Dean and leaned over him so that he could see her. “Mr. Winchester, you’ve had surgery, but you’re going to be fine. We’re going to let your husband stay with you, but you have to remain calm. Can you do that?”

Dean nodded, although his eyes never left Sam’s face. Sam knew that his brother was agreeing to whatever the doctor wanted just so she would leave. It didn’t take long for him to get his wish. With a last few admonishments to Sam, she left and took the nurses with her.

Sam waited until they were gone and leaned forward until he could lean his forehead against his brother’s. “I’ll tell you what happened, but you can’t get upset like that again. If you set off the alarms, they’ll kick me out. Can you keep calm for me?”

After Dean nodded, Sam lifted up his brother’s oxygen mask long enough to bestow a quick kiss. When he felt how dry Dean’s lips were, he grabbed a small spoonful of ice chips out of the bowl on the bedside table. He fed them to Dean, who took in the moisture gratefully.

“Okay, just let those melt in your mouth, okay?” Sam instructed. “I’ll give you more.” He put the spoon down. “I know that Gordon Walker shot you in the leg as you tried to get the kids out of the park.” Sam answered the question he could see in Dean’s eyes. “As far as we can tell, he was using a silencer, that’s why you didn’t hear the shot.”

Dean turned his head towards the ice bowl and Sam gave him another spoonful before continuing.

“I know. . . .” Sam had to gulp before continuing. “I know that Gordon grabbed Danny when he fell and told the boys they were monsters. I know that Gordon killed Xena before he attacked and probably thought he killed Joxer too, but he was wrong. I know that Joxer jumped him and that you convinced the boys to run.” He gave Dean more ice. “The boys ran a block over and found a policeman. That’s when I showed up.”

He continued to feed Dean the ice. “I don’t know what happened after the boys got away, except that Gordon shot you in the back. The bullet hit your lung, but the damage has been repaired. It’ll take work to get both your leg and your breathing back to speed, but you’re going to be fine.”

Dean moved a weak hand up to the mask and moved it aside. “Boys?” He rasped.

Sam winced. “They’re shaken up, but fine. Danny’s pretty withdrawn, but you would have been proud of Michael. He gave the police an ace description of Gordon.”

“Gor. . . don?”

Sam shook his head. “He got away. I assume that he didn’t kill you because he was interrupted or maybe just because you’re human.”

Licking his lips, Dean shook his head. “Dead weight. I’ll. . . slow you down.”

“Never,” Sam retorted. He kissed Dean again and made him put the mask back on. “You’re the glue that holds this family together.”

Dean shook his head. “I’m the. . . weak link. . . Sammy.”

A nurse came in, startling them both. She made a disgusted noise at seeing them cuddling, but started checking Dean’s condition professionally enough.

“You better get used to it,” Sam warned her. “This is my legally married husband and, if you have a problem with that, you better get reassigned.” His smile was not nice. “Or help your hospital get prepared for a major lawsuit.”

After she left, Dean chuckled, but broke off with a gasp of pain. “Hurts. . . to laugh.” He grinned weakly at his brother. “Fierce, Sammy.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve learned from the best,” Sam smiled at him. “Look, Dean, I didn’t let on to the police that we knew the man who attacked you. I didn’t want to open that whole can of worms, not when it doesn’t really benefit us.”

Dean nodded and closed his eyes. “He’ll try. . . again. Gotta. . . protect boys.”

“They’re with Dad, he’ll keep them safe,” Sam reassured his brother. “And Bobby’s on the way. You just relax and concentrate of getting well; we’ll handle the rest.”

“Promise. . .” Dean’s eyes popped open. “Promise. . . not hunt. . . Gordon. . . until I can. . . watch your back.”

“We’re handling things, Dean,” Sam repeated, careful not to make the requested promise. His eyes filled. “Dean, I’m so sorry.”

“F’what?” That little crease appeared on Dean’s forehead as he frowned, the one that Sam usually found adorable. Now, though, it just added to Sam’s guilt. “You. . . got the warning. . . to me.”

“Not that,” Sam shook his head. “You were right. You wanted to kill Gordon after he hunted me and I wouldn’t let you. Now he’s hurt you and tried to murder our sons. I should have killed him while I had the chance.”

The conversation was taking its toll on the wounded man. Sam could tell that Dean wanted to stay awake, but, even struggling, he was barely managing to keep his eyes open. They kept fluttering shut and his lids were taking longer and longer to pry apart.

“My job,” Dean protested sleepily. “Not yours. . . Sammy. . . . You don’t kill.”

Sam smiled sadly as he stroked Dean’s hair back. Sleep was the best thing for Dean and he did everything he could to encourage his brother to get more rest. Crooning more words of comfort about the safety of their children and about how much he loved him, Sam watched gratefully as Dean’s breathing achieved the evenness of sleep.

Only then did he answer Dean’s last comment.

“Maybe I didn’t kill before,” Sam stated grimly. “But I do now.”

And with his children safe with his father and his brother on the road to healing, Sam Winchester continued to plan. Gordon Walker wanted a hunt? 

By God, then he was going to get one.

~the end~  
(Don't kill me, the next story in the arc - Hunter - will being posted tomorrow)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted January 26, 2007


	37. Hunter part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the second in a three-part story arc and is a sequel to "Prey." It will have ten chapters and should be considered rated R.

The pain woke Dean up. The fire in his leg and back were already familiar, as was the effort to breathe, even with the oxygen mask. It’d had been a few hours since that initial, panicked, awakening and Dean had better control over himself, which was a relief. Not only had that been painful, but embarrassing as hell. Nurses had been in and out, monitoring all sorts of things, and so deep sleep had been impossible. Each time he’d awakened, Sam had been with him, reassuring him that the children were fine. Dean hated that he’d needed to hear those words over and over again. It probably wouldn’t sink in that Mikey and Danny were okay, though, until he actually got to see them.

Winchester training went deep and Dean lay quietly as his mind came up to full consciousness. He’d always been taught to assess any situation, especially when he was hurt and vulnerable. Before, the drugs had made him muzzy enough that just waking had been confusing, but this time his head was clear enough that Dean managed wake without giving an outward sign of it. 

He lay quietly for a few minutes, just relishing the simple act of breathing. He remembered the trip to the hospital and feeling like there was air all around him, but being unable to take any in. Sam’s voice and the desperation in his brother’s eyes had kept Dean going. Well, that and the need to stay alive long enough to put Gordon Walker into the ground. 

Dean managed to slit his eyes open without drawing any undue attention. It was a given that Sam was still with him. Dean had known from the determination in the other man’s eyes that Sam wasn’t budging for anything. A part of Dean wanted Sam to go be with their boys, but since John was filling that role and he knew the kids were safe, Dean was content to have Sam with him.

He’d fallen asleep with his head turned towards Sam, so his brother was the first thing that Dean saw. Sam was sitting quietly in a chair, a stone expression on his face. His eyes were open, but the pupils moved slightly. A casual observer might think the young man was daydreaming, but Dean knew better. His brother was the smartest person Dean had ever met and he knew that Sam was putting his keen intellect to work, planning how to keep their family safe. The sight should have been reassuring, but it wasn’t. Sam was an open, friendly person. To see such a hard, closed-off look on his little brother’s face worried Dean.

He must have made some small sound of dismay, because almost as soon as Dean had noticed Sam’s expression, his brother became aware that he was awake.

“Hey there,” Sam’s demeanor changed completely as the visage of a hardened hunter melted into the compassionate lover that Dean was used to. “Welcome back.” He leaned forward and stroked his thumb lightly against Dean’s forehead.

“Talk. . . to boys?” Dean asked, hating the breathy quality of his voice.

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Dad and Liddy said they had a good night and let them sleep late this morning. They’ll be over in a little bit.”

Dean frowned. “Don’t. . . .”

He couldn’t finish the sentence, but Sam understood what he meant.

“They can’t come into ICU,” Sam explained. “Don’t worry, they won’t see you like this.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I always knew you were vain.”

“They’re. . . .” Dean shook his head weakly. “Scared enough.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam responded softly. “We’re working on that.” He ran a hand through Dean’s hair. “When you’re feeling better and in a regular room, they’ll get to see you then. I know Michael and Danny’ll like that. They’ve been asking for you constantly. Well, Michael has anyway.”

“What’s wrong. . . with Danny?” Dean demanded.

He didn’t like the guilty look in Sam’s eye as his younger brother sighed. “Remember how I said Danny was a little withdrawn?” He waited for Dean to nod. “It’s kind of worse than that; he hasn’t spoken since the attack.”

Dean instinctively tried to get up, but Sam kept him from moving. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Sam demanded. “If you set any of those alarms off again, I get kicked out. You belong in bed anyway.” 

With a frustrated groan, Dean let himself be pushed back into the mattress. The motion caused his back to ache, but he was too breathless to do anything but glare at his brother.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Sam chastised him. “We just established that the boys would probably be a little freaked to see you hurt so badly, so rushing off to help Danny isn’t, well, going to help matters any.” His voice softened. “I know you want to see them, wrap your arms around them and make everything better. We’ll get there, I promise.”

“You didn’t. . . promise,” Dean pointed out.

“What?” Sam’s forehead was wrinkled in confusion. “What are you talking about, Dean?”

“Before,” Dean gasped. “Didn’t promise. . . not to go after. . . Gordon.”

Sam’s expression hardened. “I can’t promise that, Dean. The man hurt you, meant to kill our children. I have to take him down before he causes this family any more damage.”

“Not you,” Dean shook his head, heedless of way the monitors connected to him started to ping a little louder. “My job.”

“Not this time,” Sam smiled sadly. “You’re out of commission for the time being.”

“No,” Dean protested.

Sam leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. “Yes, Dean. Now, calm down or the nurses will be in here and sending me packing.”

The threat of not having Sam by his side was enough to get Dean to stop arguing. As he made an effort to relax and breathe evenly, Sam reached over and rubbed his belly. It was gesture that Sam had started after the fight with the demon had left Dean with a slice across his stomach. Not only did the feel of his brother’s large, warm hand stroking him help Dean relax, but the remembrance of what they’d already overcome helped him get into a better frame of mind. It didn’t take long for the monitors to slip back to normal.

“We’ll talk. . . again later,” Dean promised.

“All right,” Sam said readily enough, but Dean could see the shadows in the other man’s eyes.

“You okay. . . Sammy?”

Sam’s smile was more of a grimace. “I’m fine, Dean. The boys are safe, you’re on the mend, and Dad said Bobby’s due in this morning, so we’ll have help tracking Gordon down. I’m good, so don’t worry about me.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. He had a couple of holes in him, but he knew when he was being played.

“Good morning, Mr. Winchester,” a cheery voice greeted him before he could call Sam on his obvious ploy. 

Dean transferred his glare to the doorway. It’d been his experience that cheerful voices in a hospital usually meant bad news. From the looks of the woman entering his room, he had a feeling this wasn’t going to be an exception.

“Mr. Winchester, I’m Holly, your pulmonary therapist,” the large brunette introduced herself. 

“His what?” Sam asked, one hand resting protectively on Dean’s arm.

“His pulmonary therapist,” she repeated. “Neither Dr. Logan or Dr. Mendoza told you about the treatment?”

Dean was confused, but Sam nodded. “They both mentioned it, but I was too relieved at the time that Dean was going to be okay to even ask what it was.”

She took the hint, addressing her explanation equally to Sam and Dean. “Mr. Winchester’s lung gook some damage and that puts a strain on both lungs. They’re not operating efficiently and there’s the danger of fluid build-up and pneumonia.”

”So the therapy reduces that risk?” Sam pressed.

“That’s right,” she sounded entirely too happy about that. “Applying a rhythmic physical pressure to his back will help break up any fluid that’s accumulated, allowing his weakened lungs to dispel it.”

“A rhythmic physical pressure?” Sam demanded incredulously. “You’re going to whack him on the back? Lady, he’s got a gunshot wound on his back.”

“It’s all. . . right, Sammy,” Dean interrupted him. His breathless voice shouldn’t have cut through Sam’s rising ire, but it did. Like a hot knife through butter. “Gotta. . . be done.”

“It’s not pleasant,” Holly admitted. “But it is necessary.”

Dean saw Sammy swallow heavily and took pity on his brother. This was going to hurt like a son of a bitch and, he knew if Sammy were the one having it done, that it would be impossible to watch. Good for him or not, watching someone deliberately hurt Sam would be too much to take.

“Leave, Sammy.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Leave? No way.”

“Go. . . call boys,” Dean insisted. He closed his eyes. This was something to be endured and he’d handle it better if he didn’t have to try and be strong for Sam. Dean couldn’t articulate all of that and tried to put everything he was feeling into his voice. “Please?”

He could hear Sam sigh and then there was the soft brush of lips against his forehead. When he opened his eyes, Sam’s face was inches from his own.

“Love you,” Sam said softly, but he was gone before Dean could reply.

“All right, Mr. Winchester,” the therapist stated. “I’ll try to minimize the discomfort as much as I can.”

Which was, as Dean well knew, hospital speak for ‘this going to hurt like hell.’ He closed his eyes and waited for it to be over. He’d seen more of pain in the last day than he had of the people he loved and, what sucked even more, he had a feeling that it would be that way for a while.

*  
*  
*

Sam felt like a coward as he all but fled Dean’s room. He could not, just could not, sit by and watch that woman hurt his brother. Even knowing that the treatment would help Dean physically and truly was for his own good, Sam couldn’t do it. Sometimes it felt like he’d spent half his life watching Dean in pain.

He rubbed his temples as he made his way through the Intensive Care Unit, nodding to the nurses he knew as he want along. A headache had plagued him ever since the vision had hit; Sam had just been too worried about Dean and their children to notice. He took the bottle of aspirin he’d bought at the gift shop out of his pocket and downed a couple, dry. That was about all the time Sam had for a headache.

Dean had suggested that Sam call the boys and Sam intended to do just that. As soon as he made it to the waiting room, Sam pulled out his cell phone. When he turned it on, though, it started to ring before he could dial out. Looking at the caller ID, Sam saw that it was Ellen and immediately decided to take the call.

“Ellen,” Sam greeted her. He intended to warn her about Gordon, but she beat him to the punch.

“Sam, Gordon Walker’s out of prison,” Ellen interrupted him. “I tried to call you at the house, but there was no answer and Dean wasn’t picking up his cell phone. I don’t know if Gordon still believes you need to be hunted, but I figured you’d better know.”

“You’re a little late for that, Ellen,” Sam couldn’t help the bitter tone that crept into his voice. 

He moved off to the side of the waiting room so that no one would overhear. It looked like the few people who were there were too wrapped up in their own misery to care, but better safe than sorry. It wouldn’t do for the authorities to find out that Sam had known who the attacker was all along.

Ellen gasped. “Is everyone okay?”

“Me and the boys are fine,” Sam stated, and then added starkly, “but Gordon shot Dean twice. Once in the back.”

“Oh my God,” Ellen’s shock was gratifying. “Is he going to be all right?”

“He’s in the ISU, where they’re working to keep the fluid out of his lungs,” Sam explained. “Dad’s with Liddy and the boys and Bobby’s on the way. The kids are pretty shook up.”

“I just bet, darlin’,” she said, then added in a rush. “Look, I’m coming up there. I’ll catch a flight; be there by this afternoon.”

“No,” Sam said forcefully. “I need you at the Roadhouse.”

“Why?”

Sam ignored the hurt in her voice. “When Gordon Walker hunted me, he mentioned that he had a contact at the Roadhouse. We never did find out who that is. I need you to stay there and keep your ear to the ground.”

“And suss out who’s been tattling,” she added. “All right. I did some asking around originally, but when he was locked up, it became a moot point. Attacking children, though. . . might be that folks are more likely to talk once they hear that.”

“Is Ash around?” Sam asked. It had occurred to him during the night to use the other man’s particular research talents.

“He stays close by as long as I keep his beer free. Do you want to talk to him?”

Sam could see the elevators from where he was standing and watched while the doors opened and his family walked out. “No, just ask him to hack the Indiana penal system. If Gordon Walker made any allies while he was in prison, I want to know about it.”

He hung up and strode towards his family before Ellen could respond.

“DaSa,” Michael greeted him with a big smile. “Guess what? Uncle Bobby’s here.”

“He got in this morning,” John confirmed. “He’s parking the SUV.”

Sam closed his eyes briefly in relief. Something told him they were going to need all the help they could get, even if they had to be choosy in what they accepted. Bobby was one of the few that Sam trusted to help protect his family.

“An’ guess what else?” Michael asked. “We ate breakfast in the room. The man brought us a tray and these little syrup bottles and everything.”

Despite the situation, Sam had to grin at his oldest son’s enthusiasm. It looked like Hell had truly frozen over, if John had sprung for room service. Of course, it helped that his father was using a credit card that he wouldn’t have to pay off.

“That sounds nice,” Sam commented, giving the boy a hug. Danny trailed at his brother’s heels, solemnly holding up a miniature salt shaker for his father’s scrutiny. “Pretty cool there, Dan.”

Sam decided he would do his best to assume that the four year-old had latched onto the salt shaker simply because of the novelty of its size and that the boy’s interest had nothing at all to do with the protective qualities of what it contained. “Did you boys have a good night? Were you good for Grandpa and Liddy?”

“Uh-huh,” Michael asserted. “We brushed our teeth and went to bed when Grandpa said. We didn’t have any books, but I told Danny a story, like the ones DeeDee tells.”

“You took real good care of your brother,” Sam praised the child as he picked Danny up and gave him a squeeze. “I’m proud of both of you.”

“Have you had breakfast?” Liddy asked, a concerned look on her face.

Danny started squirming, so Sam put him down. Both boys headed over to the children’s corner and started working a puzzle.

“Sam?”

When Liddy repeated his name, Sam looked over at her. His father stood at Liddy’s elbow and they both looked troubled.

“No, I’m not hungry,” Sam belatedly answered the question. “Sorry. I’m just a little distracted. Has Danny said anything yet?”

All three of them looked over to where the children were interacting quietly. John shook his head.

“No, he’s pulling a Dean on you.” Sam must have looked as baffled as he felt, because his father hastened to explain. “After your mom died, Dean didn’t talk for months. Oh, he’d talk to you or give Missouri a word here or there, but nothing else.”

“I didn’t know that,” Sam replied softly. “Nobody ever told me that.”

John squeezed Sam’s shoulder. “Give Danny time; he’ll talk when he’s ready.”

Sam sighed again. Maybe his father was right, but the wait and see attitude on something like his son’s emotional well-being didn’t sit well with Sam. Under the current circumstances, though, they would have to hope that being surrounded by a loving family would help Danny cope. After Gordon Walker was dealt with, they could think about getting counseling for both boys.

The elevator doors opened again, revealing Bobby in all his scruffy glory. Liddy moved closer to the boys, as though sensing that the men were going to talk shop, but Sam greeted the newcomer with deep gratitude.

“Bobby, thank you so much for coming,” Sam gave the man a quick hug as soon as he was in arms’ reach. “I’m sorry about the dogs.”

Bobby’s eyes were suspiciously bright. “They did what they were trained to do. Of course, I never thought it’d be another hunter they were protecting the boys from.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Sam grew very serious. “But Gordon. . . he’s going down for this, Bobby. Are you okay with that?”

The older hunter looked from Sam to where the boys were playing quietly under Liddy’s supervision. “Hell, yeah. I’d ask you if I could have a piece of him, but I figure I’m low man on the totem pole for that.” He straightened his shoulders. “What’s the plan?”

”For now, we’re just keeping everyone safe until Dean’s out of the hospital,” Sam explained. “Ellen’s trying to figure out who Gordon’s Roadhouse contact is and Ash is working on any buddies he might have made in jail.”

Bobby snorted. “Gordy’s not the type to make buddies. That man’s a loner.”

“Probably,” Sam agreed. “But I want everything about him checked and double checked. I want to know his hunting habits better than he knows them himself.”

“Good planning, son.” John praised him. “We’re just dropping Liddy and the boys off, then I’m going to take Bobby back to St. Peter. Get him established at the house and make sure Gordon doesn’t come nosing around.”

Sam nodded. It would be good to know that they had a safe base to fall back on.

“Besides, my kids need some room to run,” Bobby said, referring to his dogs. “That swanky place your dad got a room in doesn’t allow dogs. Not even one.”

”And how many did you bring?” Sam asked.

“Five,” Bobby stated proudly. “Best I’ve ever trained.”

“Let me just go in and see Dean and we can go,” John told him, moving towards the corridor that led to his son’s room.

“Wait a minute, Dad,” Sam stopped him. “Dean’s having his therapy session right now. I don’t think he wants anyone there for it.”

John grimaced. “Rough, huh?”

Sam nodded. “Probably. Why don’t you wait until it’s done, though? I know he’d be glad to see you.”

“Will do,” John looked unusually hesitant. “I called Walter last night.”

Sam groaned. “Why?”

”I thought it would be good to warn him that the background he put together for your brother might be tested,” John sounded defensive. 

It hadn’t taken them long to realize that settling down and becoming legit posed some problems. Specifically, the fact that Sam and Dean were brothers was a problem. Most innocent questions that came out of polite conversation could be turned aside easily enough, but the Winchesters had never been much for polite little chats. They had enough run-ins with the authorities over the years not to leave anything to chance and it looked as though their paranoia was going to come in handy.

Simply put, on paper Dean wasn’t John’s son. It had been a difficult choice to make, but necessary. Not only did Sam need his academic credentials, but Dean Winchester had a spotty criminal past. Of the two brothers, he could most afford to lose his history. Walter Skinner and company had already buried Dean’s murder charge in St. Louis, but over the years, they went a lot further. 

Their false paper trail showed that Dean took the name Winchester when he hooked up with Sam, the date of which remained post-Stanford. Prior to that, however, he was supposedly Dean Slater, the son of a Marine that Walter and John had served with. Curt Slater had not done well in his life as a civilian and had died homeless and drug addicted. It was easy enough to create a son for him and, although normally John Winchester wouldn’t be considered prime foster parent material, he was listed as Dean’s foster father from the age of 15 out. That still made the resulting relationship between Sam and Dean a little incestuous, but explained why the two had been so close growing up.

“I guess that’s a good idea,” Sam reluctantly agreed. Given the nature and violence of the attack, the authorities would be looking at all aspects of it, including the backgrounds of the victims. “What did he say?”

”That the cover should hold,” John replied. “He also said that Dana and Fox are off on some investigation, or they’d offer to come out and help.”

Sam let out a sigh of relief. Water and his crew were good friends and would be good people to have in a fight, but Sam had no intention of fighting Gordon Walker. He was going to kill the man and, although Alex Krychek might approve of that action, Sam wasn’t so sure about the rest of his FBI friends and he was in no mood to argue about it.

“He did offer to have you send the kids out to them,” John added. “He thought that might be something Gordon wouldn’t expect and that he and Alex should have no problem protecting them.”

It was tempting. Gordon Walker was one hunter; they were at least three, with more help on the sidelines. Even so, Sam also had two children, Liddy, and a wounded Dean to protect. That need gave Gordon an advantage that Sam didn’t like. He only seriously considered it for a moment, though. Sending the boys away would be the smart thing to do, but Sam couldn’t. Ever since his vision, he had a visceral need to protect his family and he knew that sending them away would drive him insane.

“Danny should go,” a piping voice said. “But not me.”

All three men whipped around to see Michael standing far nearer than he had been a few minutes ago.

“Danny should go,” the eight year-old repeated. “He’s little and Uncle Walter and Uncle Alex can protect him. ‘Sides, if he’s gone, I can feel the bad man and help you find him.”

Sam felt like the worst kind of father that the thought of such a thing had even occurred to his son. “Nobody’s going to be sent away, Michael. You’re both staying here.” 

“I want to help,” Michael stated, jaw jutting out in determination.

Crouching so that he could look the boy in the eye, Sam tried to put all of the sincerity he felt into his voice. “You are helping us. You gave the police the description they needed and you’re helping take care of your little brother. That’s a lot.”

“Listen to your father,” John added, support from an unexpected source. “He knows what he’s talking about.”

Michael looked far from convinced, but didn’t argue anymore. Sam decided he’d better think of a distraction, though, before the boy could think of additional arguments.

“You know what? I’m starving.” He announced. “Let’s go get some breakfast.”

“We already ate, DaSa,” Michael reminded him.

“Ah, but it’s a 24 hour cafeteria,” Sam said with false cheer. “They have ice cream all day and all night. Have you ever had ice cream for breakfast?”

Knowing Dean’s eating habits, the kids probably had eaten ice cream for breakfast at some point when Sam wasn’t around. From their delighted expressions, though, they thought Sam’s was a splendid idea.

Leaving John and Bobby behind to wait for the end of Dean’s therapy session, the rest of the family headed downstairs for something to eat. Sam wasn’t hungry, but he’d manage. He’d do just about anything for his family, including choking down ice cream as a distraction. That didn’t extend, however, to involving either of his sons in a hunt when they were so young.

Sam knew that Dean would feel the same, although their father chiming in on the subject had been a welcome surprise. They’d bring down Gordon Walker, but without Michael’s help.

And they would make the bastard pay.

~to be continued in Hunter part 2~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted February 24, 2007


	38. Hunter part 2

If Dean thought the nine months waiting for his kids to be born was bad, it was nothing compared to the torture of the last few minutes, waiting for them to arrive in his hospital room. He’d ended up spending a couple of days in the Intensive Care Unit, which was about two days longer than he wanted to. Unfortunately, his body had been stressed by having two wounds and the blood loss had complicated his lung injury. Dean had endured the pulmonary therapy with as much good grace as he could, accepting the pain as necessary to getting to see his children. 

Dean had finally been moved to a regular room that afternoon. Between the therapy he’d received just before the switch and the discomfort caused by the transfer itself, though, Sam had insisted that he rest before the boys came in to see him for the first time. Dean had protested, but his grumbling had fallen on deaf ears. Sam had inherited John Winchester’s stubbornness in full force and was implacable. Dean had bitched, but it hadn’t done any good and in the end he’d napped for a couple of hours. The rest had done him good, although Dean would die before admitting it. 

John waited with him while Sam went to get the kids, but Dean was too agitated to pay his father much attention. He nodded his head once in a while to something the older man said, but his full attention was really on the door. Finally, a warm chuckle broke through his anxiety. When he looked over at his father, John was grinning from ear to ear.

“What?” He snapped, confused.

“Do you even know what you just agreed to?” John asked him.

Dean thought back, only vaguely remembering murmuring an affirmative to some comment his father had made. For the life of him, though, he had no idea what John had been asking him.

John laughed. “You just agreed that Air Supply could kick Metallica’s ass any day of the week.”

“Great, take advantage of a guy when he’s down,” Dean complained.

He didn’t fool his father any. “Dean,” John said, putting a hand on his son’s leg. “The boys really are all right and they’re dying to see you. You have nothing to be worried about here.”

Dean sighed. His dad just didn’t get it and, what was more surprising, neither did Sam. Kids had a hard time dealing with a parent being hurt. Sam didn’t know any better, by the time he was old enough to be aware of what was going on, John being hurt was a common occurrence. Dean, though, was a different story. He remembered clearly the first time his dad had been badly injured on a hunt and how much it bothered him to see his father bleed. It was like the rug had been pulled out from underneath him and Dean’s sense of security had already been pretty shaky by then. Those memories haunted him and, although Dean was anxious to see his kids, he didn’t want his condition to further upset them.

Sam had laid enough guilt on their father over the years that Dean was hesitant to explain his reaction. He just shrugged and went back to looking at the door. Eventually, he was rewarded. Dean heard the sound of Sam’s voice first and then the three of them filled up his doorway. Michael and Danny first, with Sam right behind them with a hand on each boy’s shoulder. Liddy hovered in the background, a smile on her face.

Neither boy rushed in, although they did walk forward after some gentle ‘encouragement’ from their father. John stood and came around the foot of the bed, as though to intercept any child-sized missiles from jumping on the wounded man. Unfortunately, it looked like that wasn’t going to be a problem.

“See, there he is,” Sam encouraged the very reluctant boys. “You’ve been wanting to see DeeDee.”

“Hey, guys,” Dean greeted them with a grin. “Man, am I ever glad to see you.”

“Go on,” Sam coaxed. “He’s not going to break.”

Michael approached the bed warily. Sam tried to get Danny to move too, but the smaller boy shook his head and tried to crawl up Sam’s leg. With a sigh, Sam picked him up.

“DeeDee?” Michael asked. “Is that a tube in your nose?”

“Yeah.” Dean smiled, despite the fact that he hated the nasal canula every bit as much as he’d hated the oxygen mask. “I don’t know what they call it, but it helps me breathe.”

His son frowned. “Does it hurt?”

“Nah,” Dean scoffed. “I’d let you try it, but it probably has my boogers on it.”

That got Michael to giggling and he stepped closer to the bed. Dean held out his arms and the boy ran the last few steps. John moved forward, but it wasn’t necessary. Michael stopped just shy of jumping on his father.

“Does it really not hurt?” Michael asked in a hoarse whisper.

“That’s what the happy juice is for,” Dean whispered back. “It makes most of the ouch go away.”

“Not if you don’t take it,” Michael scolded, hands on his hips.

There was muffled laughter from the adults. In fact, Dean had been hooked up to a self-administered morphine drip at first, but not liking the lightheaded feeling the drug gave him, hadn’t been using it enough. He’d been switched to an oral medication as a result.

“Man, you are bossy, just like your dad,” Dean murmured, glancing at Sam to show exactly which father he meant. The younger man had perched on a chair, Danny on his lap. At least the four year-old was watching and didn’t have his face hidden.

“You know what would make me feel a lot better?” Dean asked. Michael nodded vigorously and Dean smiled. “A hug.”

Michael grinned shyly and moved the rest of the way into Dean’s outstretched arms, taking care to embrace his father carefully.

“Mmm, mmm, mmm,” Dean murmured in appreciation. Chick flick moments didn’t apply when it came to the kids. “That’s one powerful hug. I feel better already.” 

More comfortable every minute with his injured father, Michael climbed gingerly onto the bed and settled in next to him.

“So what have you been up to, champ?” Dean asked. He looked over at Danny, making sure not to exclude the younger boy. “You guys being extra special good for DaSa?”

Dean wanted to keep things light, so they spent the next few minutes chatting about how the boys had been spending their time. The other adults in the room stayed quiet, obviously in deference to Dean’s reunion with his sons. Michael was quite enamored with room service and was disappointed when Dean informed him not to expect eating in his bedroom once they returned home. Dean got the full rundown on the menu in the cafeteria, as well as a list of DVDs that the waiting room stocked. While they chatted, Dean continually looked at Danny, but so far the boy wasn’t budging. He’d nod or shake his head at something Michael was saying, but seemed perfectly content to remain on Sam’s lap.

Dean was in heaven. His family was all around him and, more importantly, they were safe. His eyes literally soaked in the sight of his children and he couldn’t get enough of Michael’s voice. The only thing missing was Danny’s happy chatter. That was worrisome, but Dean also remembered what it was like to be so full of confusion and fear that it choked the words right out of you. He hated it that one of his kids was going through the same thing.

Unfortunately, Dean hadn’t spoken so much since his injury and his chatting with Michael was starting to take its toll. At first, there was just a tickle in his throat. He tried to suppress it, but it was persistent. Some water had been brought as soon as he was settled in his room, but no one had poured him any. Dean knew he should stop Michael long enough to get a drink, but he hated to. It felt like forever since he’d talked to either of his boys.

Dean’s reluctance was his undoing. The tickle became a cough, which was something far more painful. It ripped through him unexpectedly, doubling him over with pain. He heard rather than saw the scramble around him and, the next he knew, Sam was at his side, holding a cup to his lips. While Dean drank, his brother murmured softly, calming both Dean and their son.

When Dean had recovered, Sam helped him lay back against the pillows. Michael was still next to him, eyes wide. 

“It’s okay, Mikey,” Dean reassured him. He felt a tug on his blanket and looked down.

Danny was standing right by his bed, looking up at him with worry written all over his little face.

“I’m all right, Danny, promise,” Dean said. The choking of his voice wasn’t only because of the coughing or the soreness it had induced. He reached out and gently ruffled the boy’s hair. “See? I’m fine.”

Solemnly, Danny climbed up onto the mattress and nestled into Dean’s side. Michael took that as his cue and snuggled into the other side, being careful of Dean’s wound. Vaguely, Dean was aware of Sam ushering John and Liddy out of the room and pulling the draperies shut. 

Dean wanted to protest that he’d already had a nap, but for some reason, he was worn out. He felt someone close by and was surprised to realize that he had shut his eyes. When he opened them, he saw that Sam was leaning close, tears in his eyes.

“You are such a girl,” Dean whispered softly, not wanting to disturb the boys.

Sam just smiled and gently wiped away the tears from Dean’s face. “Yeah, I know.”

With his brother keeping watch and his children pressed close, Dean allowed himself to sleep.

*  
*  
*

Dean didn’t do well in hospitals, he never had. The current situation was no exception. Soon after Dean had been moved out of ICU and into a regular hospital room, he’d developed a low grade fever. It had slowed his recovery and he was chomping at the bit to go home. Sam was mindful of the time that Dean had been given weeks to live after being electrocuted and then checked himself out of the hospital anyway. So far, Sam had managed to convince his brother to stay put, but it was only a matter of time.

With his attacker still on the loose, Dean had been given a room of his own for security reasons. It worked well for the family. The extra bed in the room gave Sam somewhere to rest at night, since he refused to leave Dean alone in the hospital, and the added privacy allowed them to do some strategizing during the day.

The boys were being real troopers about the whole thing, but they were still two small children spending the majority of their day pent up in a hospital. They were restless, but at least them being there forced Dean to set a good example. For perhaps the first time in his adult life, Dean took his medication without fussing and obeyed every doctor’s order, all because little eyes were watching and little ears were listening to every thing he said or did. And if he forgot something, Michael was right there to remind him. As the oldest, apparently Michael had decided that not only was the care of his little brother his responsibility, but so was the care of his ailing DeeDee. Sam didn’t like to add that responsibility to Michael, but he had to admit that it made Dean much easier to deal with.

Bobby was staying at the house in St. Peter, along with his dogs. He drove up every day for strategy sessions and that was helpful. Having supplies from home, such as clean clothes and toys for the kids, was an added benefit. Unfortunately, the hunting wasn’t nearly as successful and Sam was getting frustrated. Gordon Walker was one man, while they had a team of three able-bodied hunters, yet still they hadn’t had so much as a trace of him. Sam tried to mollify himself by remembering that they also had two children, Liddy, and a wounded man to protect, but it was little comfort. They were spread too thin to be effective and Gordon was taking advantage of that. Worse yet, Dean knew it too and Sam knew it was impacting his brother’s recovery.

“Sam? Dean?” A hesitant voice came from the doorway. “Is this a bad time?” Sheriff Lars Paulson stood at the door to Dean’s room; they were long past formalities and had been on a first name basis for days. The man had taken Dean’s statement while Dean was still in the ICU, but it said something for his character that he drove to the hospital every day to give them an update on the search for the attacker. Sam was also impressed by Paulson’s lack of territoriality. Recognizing that his county force of deputies wasn’t trained or equipped well enough to deal with a potential hate crime, Paulson had solicited the advice of his big city counterparts. Unfortunately, they weren’t having any more success than Sam and his hunters.

Michael and Danny were stretched out on the bed with Dean, all three of them engrossed in a Godzilla movie. At the sheriff’s entrance, Dean turned it off, prompting complaints from the boys.

“We’ve got the DVD at home,” Dean pointed out. “You’ve seen it a million times.”

“Come on, boys, I’ll take you to get a soda,” Liddy had trailed Paulson in from the waiting room, knowing that the sheriff would want to speak to Sam and Dean about the search. The children weren’t allowed anywhere unescorted, not even the relatively short walk from Dean’s room to the larger lounge.

“Can’t we stay?” Michael asked. When he got twin negative responses from both fathers, he reluctantly got down from the bed and plodded to the door. When he got to the sheriff, however, he stopped long enough to quiz him. “Did you catch the guy yet?”

“No, son, not yet.” The sheriff shook his head sadly, but a smile twitched his lips after the boys left with Liddy. “That is one determined youngster.”

“We all take the injury to Dean very seriously,” Sam stated. “I take it you don’t have anything new yet?”

“Not what you want to hear, no,” Paulson admitted. “We did have a crossing guard come forward and say she saw a man that looked a lot like the description Michael gave hanging around the school the day before the attack.” 

Sheriff Paulson was right, Sam didn’t want to hear that piece of news. Had Gordon attacked Michael while he was on his way home, it would have been a tragic ending. Danny went to preschool at a different facility, though. No doubt Gordon had wanted both boys together, knowing that if one had been killed that the Winchesters would have locked down security on the other, no matter how intense their personal grief. 

Sam’s hands ached and he belatedly realized he’d clenched them into tight fists. He forced himself to relax. Michael wasn’t the only one eager for Gordon’s head, but Sam would just have to wait.

“Thanks, Lars,” Dean commented. “We know you’re doing all you can and we appreciate it.”

Paulson sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Your dog took a chunk out of the bastard and the lab says they’ll get some DNA out of it. But it’s still not as fast as it is on TV; it’ll just take time. An attack as well planned out as this one was makes me think our guy’s done something like this before. I’m sure once we can run the DNA through all the databases, we’ll find something.”

Sam was positive of it; that was the problem. Their best chance at hunting Gordon Walker themselves was being able to work before the local authorities knew just who it was they were looking for. 

With additional apologies and reassurances, Sheriff Paulson left. Sam sighed and rubbed his face. What he wanted to do was track down the man who’d hurt his husband and frightened his children and beat him bloody. It seemed like all he could actually do, though, was sit and twiddle his thumbs.

“Sammy?” Dean rasped. “You hanging in there?”

“Yeah,” Sam dropped his hands and gave his brother a wan smile. “It’s just . . . a little much, sometimes, you know?”

Dean patted the mattress next to him. “I know. You wanna take a load off?”

It was a rare moment alone. Ever since the attack had happened, the only time there wasn’t troubled children or concerned family members around had been in the evening and by then Dean was so wiped that he pretty much just slept. Grateful for the time with his life mate, Sam settled his long body onto the bed next to Dean, who slid over enough to accommodate him.

“You’ve been having headaches again,” Dean stated. It wasn’t even close to being a question.

“Ever since the initial vision,” Sam admitted, eyes fixated above him.

“Must have been a bad one,” Dean said quietly.

Sam shuddered, remembering the sight of the three people he loved best in the world being dead. “The worst,” he whispered.

“Yeah, well, it didn’t come true,” Dean replied firmly. “And it’s not going to either. You did it, Sammy. If you hadn’t given the warning. . . .”

When his brother’s voice trailed off, Sam stopped staring at the ceiling and turned to look at Dean. His brother’s eyes looked unusually vulnerable.

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” Sam said hoarsely.

“For what?”

“If we’d done what you wanted last time, then this never would have happened,” Sam explained. “I should never have stopped you from killing Gordon.”

Dean shook his head. “No way, Sammy. Killing’s against your nature.” His jaw clenched. “That’s my job.”

“Not this time,” Sam retorted softly.

His brother glared at him. “If you’d just let me out of this bed, Sammy. . . .”

“No,” Sam said firmly, placing a finger against Dean’s lips. “This started with me, when Gordon Walker decided I was something evil that had to be killed. I’ll end it.” He darted forward and replaced his finger with his lips, kissing Dean quickly. “I better call Ellen and see if she’s found out anything yet.”

“Sam. . . .”

Dean’s tone was half order, half plea. Sam ignored both. He had too much to do to waste time getting comforted by Dean. After all his brother had been through on his behalf, it just felt wrong. Selfish. This whole mess was Sam’s fault, after all. He left the bed and strode out of the room, dialing Ellen’s number as he walked.

“Roadhouse,” she answered with her typical no-nonsense greeting.

“Ellen, it’s Sam.” Sam didn’t waste any time. “Do you have anything for me?”

“Since this morning?” Her voice contained some light sarcasm. “No. Look, Sam, I don’t know who Gordon Walker was working with before, but I think whoever it was is either dead or had a change of heart. I don’t think any of the hunters I’ve talked to would touch the man with a ten foot pole.”

“He had to get his information from somewhere,” Sam disagreed. “Maybe it’s someone who doesn’t hang around the Roadhouse much. Or who’s really good at lying.”

“Honey, the two of you are hardly difficult to find,” Ellen pointed out gently. “Gordon wouldn’t have needed some Roadhouse mole to track you down. . . and quickly too.”

Sam grudgingly had to agree that she was right. He didn’t hunt much any more, but he had his doctorate in occult studies. Not only was he sought out by other hunters for his own knowledge, but Sam’s credentials also gave him access to academic resources that were out of the reach of most hunters. In his own way, Sam was in as high demand as Ash as a consultant. No, it probably wouldn’t have been hard for Gordon to find them, simply because Sam was well known in their circle.

Yet another reason to feel guilty.

“All right,” Sam conceded. “Has anyone seen him? Talked to him after he got out of prison?”

”Not that they’re admitting,” Ellen replied. “And I don’t think anyone’s lying to me on that. Sam, you forget that Gordon Walker was a lone wolf even before he came after you. When he decided to hunt you that first time, the two of you were pretty new on the Roadhouse scene. Your daddy had a reputation, but you boys were practically strangers. No one warned you back then, but no one helped Gordon either. You got some credibility when you didn’t kill Gordon and even more when you destroyed that demon. In the years since, you boys have proven yourselves to be solid hunters, while Gordon’s been sitting in jail, getting crazier and crazier.”

Sam started to lose patience. “What are you trying to say, Ellen?”

”I’m saying,” she clarified, “that Gordon Walker would be hard-pressed to find an ally against any Winchester, but I doubt that he’d find anyone willing to hurt a child. Hunters are a hardened lot, but most of them feel pretty strongly about children. I think if anyone knew anything, they’d be happy to pass that information along.”

“All right,” Sam assimilated the information, deciding to think about what she said more deeply later. “Just keep poking around. What about Ash?”

She sighed. “He’s sleeping right now. . . .”

“He’s taking a nap?” Sam asked, incredulous. Ash was usually more reliable than that. 

John came out of the elevator and, seeing Sam on the phone, made a beeline for him. His eyebrows rose at Sam’s words, but Sam waved him off, wanting to concentrate on his conversation. John sat in a nearby chair, the impatient look on his face showing that he’d only wait so long for answers.

“He was up all night working on it,” Ellen said defensively, bringing Sam’s attention back to the conversation. “So far, nothing. Gordon Walker kept up the lone wolf act in prison too. As far as his records are concerned, the man might as well been in solitary confinement.”

Great. Yet another lead that went nowhere. 

“Well, thanks anyway,” Sam tried to keep his disappointment out of his voice, but wasn’t entirely successful.”

“Something’ll shake loose, Sam,” Ellen encouraged him. “There are lots of people looking, the man can’t stay hidden forever.”

”I hope not,” Sam replied fervently. “Thanks, Ellen.”

“Anytime, sugar.”

Sam ended the call and stowed his cell phone in his pocket. “Ellen and Ash are coming up empty too.”

John nodded. “I’ve talked to a couple of people who came across Gordon in the past during a hunt. The man’s meticulous, so that’s not entirely surprising.”

“Sheriff Paulson came by too,” Sam added. “It seems that Gordon was spotted hanging around Michael’s school the day before the attack.”

“Son of a bitch,” John swore softly. Clearly, he’d come to the same conclusion that Sam had about that little tidbit. “Sammy, we’ll find him, I swear.”

“I know,” Sam stated. “And when we do. . . .”

Father and son shared a smile and it wasn’t a nice one. They hadn’t actually talked about what would happen when they got their hands on Gordon Walker, but it was pretty obvious they were on the same wavelength about it.

“How’s Dean holding up?” John changed the subject.

“He’s getting restless, Dad,” Sam admitted. “I’m not sure how long we’re going to be able to convince him to stay here and he really needs to.”

John looked worried. “Still can’t shake that fever, huh?”

”No and, for once, he’s taking all of his medication,” Sam sighed. “The doctor thinks it’s related to the blood loss and all the stress isn’t helping either.”

“Dean isn’t going to be able to concentrate on getting well until the threat has been dealt with,” John theorized. “The best thing we can do for your brother is find that animal as fast as possible.”

“I know, I know.” Sam agreed. “We’re working on it.”

John changed the subject. “Is Dean awake?”

“He was a few minutes ago,” Sam looked at his watch. “But it’s just about time for his pulmonary therap-. . . .” He caught sight of a familiar brunette. “Speak of the devil, there’s Holly.”

“Hello, Sam. John,” the therapist greeted the Winchesters. “Just the two men I wanted to see.”

“Us?” Sam asked. Although he greeted the woman every day, he hadn’t spent much time with her. Sam still couldn’t stand to be in the room during Dean’s sessions.

“Yes, you,” Holly confirmed in her typically perky voice. Sam wasn’t quite sure why Dean hadn’t taken the woman’s head off. Dean and perky usually didn’t mix well.

“As much as we enjoy Dean’s sunny personality around here,” the therapist explained, “Eventually he’s going to go home. To prepare for that, I’ll need to teach a family member the techniques I’m using so his therapy sessions can continue.” She shot a pointed look at each man’s hands. “I’d say that either one of you would be a good candidate.”

Sam felt the blood leave his face. “You mean that you want one of us to slap him on the back for half an hour every day?” 

“It’s a little more complicated than that, but yes,” Holly nodded. “Dean’s improving, but his lungs are going to be weak for some time to come. He’s going to need some help keeping fluid from building up.”

Although Sam was dedicated to helping Dean recover, he didn’t know if he could do it. If he couldn’t stand to even be in the room while Dean endured the painful procedure, how could he manage to perform it himself?

“I’ll do it,” John offered in a steady voice.

“Good,” Holly replied. “Why don’t we start by having you observe me today?”

“All right,” John agreed. As Holly started to step towards the corridor that led to Dean’s room, he assured her, “I’ll be right there.”

”Dad, are you sure about this?” Sam asked. He already felt guilty for not taking on the task himself.

John smiled at him gently. “Sam, I started training you boys to hunt when you were still in elementary school. If I can do that, I can do this.” He patted his son on the shoulder. “And obviously, you don’t want to. Anything I can do to take some of the burden off you, I will. You’re not alone in this, Sam.”

Sam felt his eyes sting. “Thanks, Dad.”

“I better get a move on,” John said. He clapped Sam on the arm and moved to follow Holly. “I think that gal might decide to thump me if I’m late.”

Shaking his head in amazement, Sam watched him go. He still didn’t know if he’d been wrong about his father all along or if becoming a grandfather had simply made John Winchester a better father. In any case, Sam wasn’t going to argue with the offer. He needed all the help he could get.

~to be continued Hunter Part 3-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally February 25, 2007


	39. Hunter - part 3

For most of his life, Dean hadn’t had much of home other than the Impala, so the feeling that washed over him when they pulled into the long gravel drive in front of their house surprised him. He still felt like crap and ached all over, not counting the twin hotspots of pain that were his gunshot wounds. Sam had been driving slowly and carefully, so it had taken longer than an hour to get from Minneapolis to St. Peter and most of that drive had been uncomfortable for Dean. 

All of that faded away as they pulled up to the house.

“For the record,” Sam said quietly, “I still think this is a bad idea.”

“So noted.” Dean answered readily enough, but he was distracted. Home. It felt good.

It had been a mini-caravan of sorts. Sam had driven his SUV with Dean and the boys as passengers. John had driven his SUV right behind them, with Liddy riding with him. Bobby had stayed at the house and, from the phone call Sam had made five minutes out, they knew that everything was secure. Even so, everyone stayed in the vehicles. 

Bobby wasn’t alone.

Five shapes came streaking across the lawn as the SUVs came to a stop. Even expecting the dogs’ presence, Dean found it eerie. He kept looking for two more familiar figures; the loss of Xena and Joxer would take some getting used to. He wasn’t the only one. They’d warned the boys, of course, and assured them it was safe, but the children did not react well. Dean heard a slight whimper from the back seat and, despite how well he knew his kids’ voices, he couldn’t figure out which child had made the sound.

“It’s all right, guys,” Sam said, swiveling in his seat with an ease Dean envied. “These are Uncle Bobby’s dogs, the ones we told you about, remember?”

“They’re friends,” Dean added. He undid his seatbelt and hissed quietly as he tried to mimic Sam’s movement. Sam put a hand on his thigh to stop him, but Dean ignored his brother.

Sure enough, two pairs of very wide eyes met his as he looked into the back of the car. The boys darted nervous looks outside and, as Dean watched, Danny reached over and grabbed his older brother’s hand.

“This is worse than I thought,” Sam murmured. 

“What did you expect?” Dean asked with light sarcasm. “From the boys’ point of view, Joxer went all Cujo on us. They’re bound to be a little afraid of dogs for a while.”

He didn’t want to admit it to Sam, but Dean was decidedly uneasy too. They’d had Xena for eight years and Joxer for four. He’d known on an intellectual level that Bobby had trained them as guard dogs and, because it was Bobby doing the training, knew that they would perform that service well. But after years of seeing them as nothing but family pets, it had been unnerving to see one of them go for a man’s throat. The same morning of the attack, Joxer had been tussling on the floor with Danny, licking Danny on the face with the same mouth that had snapped and snarled at the attacker with such ferociousness.

The dogs circled the vehicles until Bobby came out of the house. He whistled and, like a well-trained squadron, they swerved and ran up to the porch. Bobby made a hand gesture and all five animals sat, although from where Dean was, he could tell their attention was still on the newcomers.

“All right,” Bobby called out. “It’s okay now.”

After taking a good look at his kids, Dean wasn’t so sure, but he knew he had to set a good example. Not having seen Joxer attack Gordon, Sam wasn’t so hesitant. He jumped out of the SUV and immediately opened the back door.

“C’mon, Michael, it’s fine,” Sam reassured his oldest as he unbuckled Michael's seatbelt for him.

Dean saw the boy look to him for reassurance and he smiled. Taking a big gulp, Michael started to slide towards the door, only to realize that Danny was still holding his hand.

“He won’t let go,” Michael said. 

Sam stuck his head in the SUV. “Danny, it’s okay.”

But Danny just shook his head.

Swearing softly under his breath, Dean twisted back around in his seat, ignoring the twinge it caused from the wound in his back. Before he could get his door open, though, John was there. His father looked from the front seat to the back, as though he was trying to decide who needed help more, Dean or Danny.

“Get Danny,” Dean instructed, gritting his teeth against the pain. 

John hesitated, but then nodded. He opened the back door and reached for his grandson. “Hey there, champ. Can Grandpa have you?”

Danny loved his older brother, but apparently felt that Grandpa was a better source of protection than an eight year-old. He dropped Michael’s hand and wrapped his arms around John’s neck, letting himself be unbuckled from his booster seat and lifted out of the car. Once John straightened, Danny wrapped around him, drawing his feet up as far as he could and burying his face in John’s neck.

Dean gave the deepest sigh that his damaged lung would allow. He was aware of Sam opening and closing the rear hatch of the SUV. By the time Dean had managed to open his own door and swing his legs around, Sam was there in front of him, crutches in hand.

The wound in his back made it impossible for Dean to use the normal, under-the-armpit kind of crutch. The ones they’d rented from the hospital were the arm brace kind and Dean hated them with a passion. He glared at the damn things as though they would bite him, but Sam didn’t drop them. Instead, he shoved them at Dean.

“It’s either these or a wheelchair,” Sam stated mildly. Dean’s glare deepened, but Sam only batted his eyelashes at him in exaggerated innocence. “Gee. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much if you’d stayed at the hospital like the doctor wanted.”

”Bite me,” Dean whispered, mindful of Michael hovering at Sam’s elbow. With no attempt at being gracious, he grabbed the crutches from Sam and got a grip on them. 

Sam stayed close-by as Dean found his balance and shut the door after Dean moved away from the SUV. Michael hovered, walking almost too close and risking getting tangled in the crutches. Dean didn’t have the heart to ask him to move away, though. Not with the way Michael kept glancing nervously up at the porch where the dogs were. Sam walked on the other side of the boy, keeping one hand on his shoulder. With Liddy joining John and Danny, they made a united front as they approached the house.

“Welcome home,” Bobby greeted them when they got close enough that he didn’t have to shout. He clattered down the porch steps and shook Sam’s hand.

“Thanks,” Sam’s smile had a twist to it. “Nothing personal, but I’d be happier if we were doing this a couple of days from now.”

“Yeah, I heard that Dean sprung himself early,” Bobby commented. Dean could see the twinkle in his eye, though, and knew he had at least one ally. 

“He’s a damn fool,” John grunted.

Danny lifted his head from his grandfather’s neck at the same time as Michael gasped.

“That’s a quarter for the Swear Jar, Grandpa,” Michael pointed out.

All of the adults grinned at the comment, glad to have one thing back to normal.

“Remind me when we get inside, you little mercenary” John reached over and ruffled Michael’s hair. “I think you’re gonna grow up to be a banker, boy.” 

“Bobby,” Dean said seriously. He didn’t break eye contact with the other man as he hobbled over to him using his crutches. “I’ve got one thing to say to you.”

“What?” Bobby said, shifting nervously from side to side.

“Thank you.” Dean dropped his crutches and wrapped his friend in a hug. He’d been wanting to do it since Bobby had arrived, but hadn’t been comfortable showing such emotion in a public place like a hospital. “If it weren’t for your dogs. . . .”

Bobby awkwardly patted him on the back, being careful of the gunshot wound. “You’re welcome.”

“Anything you want, man,” Dean vowed as he pulled back. He balanced uncertainly on one leg until Sam bent and retrieved the crutches. “You just name it and it’s yours.”

The twinkle was back in Bobby’s eye. With a mischievous grin, he looked over at the Impala. He and John had retrieved it from the police impound lot, where it had been towed from the park following the attack. “Anything?”

Dean didn’t even blink. “Anything,” he replied firmly. “Sammy, where’s the keys?”

Before Sam could answer, Bobby put a hand on his arm. “I’m just kidding you, Deano. I know what your lady means to you.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Bobby, you think you could introduce us to your crew?” He looked pointedly at Michael and Danny, who were obviously still nervous. “We were just telling the boys how friendly they are.”

“Sure, sure,” Bobby agreed. “John here’s already met the gang, but they’ll need to get your scents anyway.”

One by one, he called the dogs forward. The first was a dark brown bloodhound.

“This here’s Fred,” Bobby explained. “He’s got a nose on him like you wouldn’t believe. If we had even a small piece of Gordon’s gear, the man would be caught by now.”

Bobby had each of them, except for John, who’d already been through the ritual, hold out a hand so Fred could take a sniff while Bobby gave the command to guard. Sam and Liddy did so readily, although Dean was a little slower. Michael gulped, but with both of Sam’s hands on his shoulders and Dean right beside him, the boy managed. When he felt Fred’s cold nose in his palm he even giggled a little. Danny wouldn’t budge, but that was all right. Bobby merely had the dog sniff at Danny’s dangling foot.

The next dog was Velma and she was a cream-colored Borzoi. She looked like a tall greyhound with longer fur, but Dean knew better. Borzois were notable hunters and he found himself wishing Bobby had more than one in his pack. She was a quiet dog that made soft puffing sounds with her cheeks instead of barking and Michael relaxed a little more at her delicate manners.

The next two dogs were small and Dean couldn’t help but tease when he got a good look at them. “Those two are a real fierce pair, Bobby. They’re about as intimidating as wet Kleenex.”

Bobby looked offended. “I’ll have you know that the Chinese bred Pugs to be demon hunters. Don’t sell Shaggy and Scooby short. They’ll take on paranormal critters that even the big dogs won’t go near.” His expression turned sheepish. “Besides, they’re yippy little things. Best early warning system that I’ve got.”

Dean wasn’t particularly impressed, but it didn’t much matter. He was more pleased with the fact that Michael relaxed even more around the smaller dogs, even going so far as to pet them when it was his turn to present himself to be sniffed. Bobby had to lift each dog in order for it to be able to sniff Danny, though, who still didn’t want to have anything to do with any of it.

The last dog was in-between the bigger dogs and the Pugs in size. She was a white and brown bulldog and, as she sat and waited to be introduced, she farted loudly.

“And the lady there is Daphne,” Bobby explained. 

Daphne drooled on Dean’s hand as she smelled it and he carefully wiped it off on his jeans afterwards. When the sniffing ritual was done, Bobby whistled again and sent the dogs off to patrol the house’s grounds.

Dean had been wondering why Sam was content to let their father carry Danny, but he found out why when it was his turn to climb the porch steps. Sam put a hand under Dean’s elbow and gave him a boost up each one.

“I got it,” Dean muttered in irritation. He wasn’t a cripple.

“Sure,” Sam murmured. “Just humor me, okay?”

Dean muttered under his breath about Sam needing a bra or something, he was such a girl, but the truth was that he needed the help. By the time they made it through the front door, Dean had broken out in a cold sweat.

“The place is secure,” Bobby assured them.

To Dean’s surprise, the living room was full. The sofa bed had been brought up from the basement, as had inflatable mattresses and a couple of cots.

“Wow,” Michael exclaimed. “Are we having a sleep over?”

Sam nodded and Dean could tell that his brother wasn’t the least surprised at the preparations. Sam rubbed Dean’s back in an absentminded way as he surveyed the living room in obvious satisfaction.

“Kind of,” Sam replied. “We’re all going to sleep down here for the next few days.”

Dean knew that it was easier to stand watch that way, but the boys didn’t. Danny wiggled to get down and John set him on his feet. Soon, both children were inspecting the area for potential fort-building and other activities.

“Let’s go into the kitchen,” John suggested. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s Bobby’s famous chili cooking on the stove.”

Indeed it was, but it wasn’t quite dinner time yet. Dean hobbled his way down the hall and gratefully sank into one of the kitchen chairs located in the eating area. Without a word of reproach, Sam plunked down into the chair next to him and lifted Dean’s injured leg onto his lap. He started kneading Dean’s calf and Dean slid down in his own seat, it felt just that good.

The other adults had followed and Dean became aware that the kitchen was serving double duty. A map of the area was spread out on the table, as were a couple of spiral-bound notebooks. There were red marks all over the map, as well as Post-It notes marking particular locations. The notebooks contained names, many of which were crossed out, as well as other notes. Reading upside down was a skill of Dean’s and, as he looked at the notebook closest to him, he realized that someone was documenting Gordon’s known hunting patterns and methods.

“That Officer Cummins was by earlier,” Bobby stated. “I told him that you guys were coming home today and he said to let you know that they’d be having a squad car come by several times a day to check on you.”

The sheriff’s office was doing the investigation on the attack, but the city police wanted to stay involved too. John had checked in with them while Dean and Sam were occupied at the hospital and let them know that Bobby would be staying at the house. It would be more of a nuisance than anything else to have officers dropping in, but it explained the portable nature of the research materials. They would have to be hidden or moved at a short moment’s notice. Once he realized that, Dean could see the tablecloth that was folded at the ready. If nothing else, the notebooks could be swept aside and the map quickly covered.

With the boys occupied with playing, the adults settled in for a strategy session. Dean only half listened to the voices and plans; there really wasn’t anything new being said and the sensation of Sam’s continuing massage of his leg was far more pleasant. Dean was vaguely surprised to see Liddy hanging in for it all, but then he was reminded that she was the one who’d dealt with the whole Jo issue. There was a core of strength in his stepmother and Dean couldn’t help but wonder if his father was aware of it. He hid a grin; in a dispute between Liddy and his dad, Dean’s money would be on Liddy.

Eventually the strategizing wound down and research materials gave way to bowls of chili. Dean managed to eat half of his, which was more than he’d been able to stomach of hospital food. It was early evening by the time they were finished cleaning up afterwards and the rest of the family disappeared as though it were prearranged. Bobby went to feed the dogs, saying that they were trained only accept food directly from him. Liddy went upstairs with Sam to help give the boys a bath. Dean was left with his father and he began to get an inkling of what was going on when John gave him a look.

Dean knew that look; it usually meant something unpleasant.

“Come on, Dean,” his father said in a resigned voice. “Let’s get this over with.”

“What?” Dean asked with narrowed eyes.

“It’s time for your therapy,” John explained. He studied Dean carefully. “I think we better move into the living room. You already look shot to hell and I don’t think I can carry you there afterwards.” He gave Dean the hairy eyeball when Dean opened his mouth. “And you’re not even going to think about suggesting you don’t need it, not after insisting that you’d follow all the doctor’s orders if we’d only bring you home.”

Dean shut his mouth with a snap. “No, sir.”

“Good answer,” John replied.

He followed Dean back to the living room, carrying one of the kitchen chairs. With a sigh, Dean sat down so that he straddled it, presenting his back for his father’s attention. His back was healing, so it didn’t hurt quite as much as it had in the beginning, but it hurt plenty. Knowing his dad, Dean didn’t hold out much hope that John would take it easy on him.

And John didn’t.

There was a particular pattern and rhythm to the pounding. Dean just bit his lip and endured. Holly, his pulmonary therapist, usually kept up a patter of conversation while she worked. Dean had found that irritating at first, but eventually found that it helped distract him. He wished he’d asked his father to turn the television on before they got started. The beating had a cumulative effect and always hurt more as it went on.

“Your brother’s right, you know,” John said, panting a little in exertion. “You should have stayed at the hospital.”

“Couldn’t,” Dean kept his answer short. “Spread too thin, too vulnerable.”

“You’re in no shape to be home,” his father retorted. “Sam’s worried sick about you.”

“Sammy worries too much,” Dean replied.

John snorted. “Like you wouldn’t, if you were in his place.”

That was part of the problem; Dean wanted very badly to be in Sam’s place. He didn’t want his brother to be injured, but Dean definitely wanted to be the one hunting Gordon, to take the burden of protecting the family off of Sam’s shoulders. Sammy’s shoulders were broad, but so were Dean’s and he had a feeling that Sam was internalizing things way too much.

It felt like forever, but finally the therapy session was done. After it was over, John helped Dean over to the sofa bed, which was pulled out and made up with sheets and blankets.

“You all right?” His father asked. 

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “How about you? You look a little out of breath there, old man.”

John grinned. “It’s a good upper body workout. By the time you’re well, I’ll be all ready for bathing suit season.”

Dean grinned.

“Is it safe to come down?” Sam’s voice wafted down the stairway.

“Yeah,” John called up. “We just finished.”

As Sam came down the stairs, Dean saw that he was carrying something. “How did it go?”

“Peachy,” Dean answered succinctly. “Where are the boys?”

“They’ll be down in a minute,” Sam didn’t seem overly concerned. “They had some things they wanted to bring with them for the night. Liddy’s helping them.”

Dean watched as his brother came into the room and nonchalantly set part of his burden down on the end table next to the side of the sofa bed that Dean was sitting on. Dean hadn’t seen the item for a couple of years, but immediately knew what it was.

“What the hell did you dig the baby monitor out for?” He demanded.

Sam shrugged. “Sometimes the simplest things work the best. I know you set up a sophisticated alarm system for the house and yard, but with the baby monitor, you can be in here and we can be in the kitchen and still hear you if you need us.”

“I don’t need a damn baby monitor,” Dean growled. “I’m a fully grown man.”

”Then act like it,” John responded. “This makes sense and you know it.”

Dean was prevented by answering by the sound of children tromping down the stairway. He didn’t want to argue about safety measures in front of the kids. What he didn’t know was that the boys had ideas of their own about safety.

Michael and Danny proceeded Liddy downstairs. Both Dean and John’s eyes widened as they saw how the kids were, for want of a better word, armed. Michael was carrying a flashlight and a toy sword. They’d bought two of the swords at the Renaissance Festival that summer, but Danny’s had long since broken. As for the younger boy, he was wearing a cowboy hat and carrying a big broom.

“What are you two knuckleheads doing?” Dean asked, trying very hard not to smile.

“We’re going to help protect you, DeeDee,” Michael explained solemnly. “That’s why we’re sleeping down here tonight with you.”

Dean looked at Sam and saw his brother’s expression morph from amusement to guilt. No doubt his little brother was blaming himself for this too.

“Well, you can’t take your weapons to bed,” Dean explained.

“We can put them under our pillow,” Michael suggested. “Like you do.”

Busted. Dean looked at Sam from underneath lowered eyelashes, trying to look as sweet and innocent as he could. To his relief, Sam rolled his eyes at him before grinning widely.

“I tell you what, set your weapons next to your bed,” Sam stepped forward to suggest. “That way they’ll be close at hand, but you won’t be sleeping on them.”

After due consideration, the boys decided that would be good enough. While John and Liddy went to the kitchen to give them some privacy, Sam helped Dean into the sweats he’d brought for him. Even though it was early, Dean gratefully let his brother help him into bed. Once he was under the sheets, a little body pressed close from either side. Apparently not all the cots and inflatable mattresses were going to get used.

“I feel safer already,” Dean claimed, hugging both of his sons.

“We’ll be keeping watch tonight,” Sam told him in a quiet voice. He turned the baby monitor on. “Me and Dad and Bobby’ll take turns.”

”Good,” Dean murmured, eyelids already drooping. 

Sam brushed a kiss across his lips before kissing each of the boys. After turning the lamps off, Sam left the room, headed for the kitchen. The other baby monitor unit was tucked under his elbow. Dean still thought it was ridiculous, although he supposed it was a good idea since the boys were going to be bedded down in the living room too.

As he drifted off into sleep, Dean felt satisfied. This was what he had needed, to be at home with his family. No mere hospital could ever hope to compete.

~to be continued in Hunter part 4~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted February 26, 2007


	40. Hunter - part 4

Their first night back at home was quiet, which was a good thing, because the next day the entire town of St. Peter descended on them. At least it felt that way to Sam. St. Peter wasn’t a large city and such a violent attack on one of their own had roused the entire populace. Having lots of visitors and an outpouring of concern wasn’t entirely unexpected. In fact, Sam had counted on it. 

That first night at the hospital, he’d sat up planning even as he guarded Dean’s sleep. For a short time, Sam had considered having Bobby rent them a house in the Minneapolis suburbs that they could retreat to when Dean was well enough to leave the hospital. In the end, he decided it wasn’t worth it. They’d only be able to hide from a hunter of Gordon Walker’s caliber for a couple of days before he tracked them down. If they went back home, Gordon would know almost immediately where they were, but he’d have to hide from a whole town eagerly looking for him. A sketch had been done based on Michael’s description and, while it was distributed in a five-state area, no one would take it as personally as the residents of the town that the attack had taken place in. St. Peter and its inhabitants were the Winchesters’ first line of defense.

The first visitor to drop in was Rose, the secretary for Sam’s department at the university. Bobby was at the end of the driveway, supposedly working the dogs, but in effect acting as a sentry. No one would get by that hadn’t vetted first and Bobby called up to the house to let Sam know who was due to arrive. Even so, Sam looked out carefully before relaxing. Rose was a welcome sight.

“Oh, Sam,” she cried out in dismay as she saw him, hurrying up the last couple of steps in order to enfold him in a one-armed hug. She was juggling a casserole dish and a tote bag in the other. “I’m so sorry! I’ve been reading the newspaper and watching it on TV and it just seems like a nightmare. Stuff like this isn’t supposed to happen here.”

“I know,” Sam said quietly. He ushered her inside as he took the casserole dish from her. 

“How are the kids?” Rose asked. “And Dean? Oh, God, I heard that Dean was shot.”

“He’s. . . well, he’s Dean,” Sam shrugged. “He should have stayed in the hospital longer, but he’s stubborn.”

“And the boys?” She asked.

Seeing two heads peeking at them from the stair landing, Sam smiled. “Why don’t you ask them yourselves? Michael, Danny, come down and say hi to Rose.”

“Hi, Miss Rose,” Michael said softly as he came down the stairs and stood as close to his father as he could get. Danny trailed behind him and looked at their visitor from behind the twin safety of his dad and older brother.

“Danny hasn’t been talking much,” Sam explained, ruffling the younger boy’s hair.

“That’s okay, honey,” Rose tried to smile, but it was watery. “I’m sure glad that you guys are all right.”

“The bad guy killed Xena and Joxer,” Michael said. “But DeeDee didn’t let him hurt us.”

”I know, he’s a very brave man.” She dug inside the tote bag and pulled out a stuffed animal. It was a white dog, which she handed to Michael. She reached in again and came out with a brown dog, which she held out to Danny.

Sam bit his lip. Rose had no way of knowing the depths of the both boys’ newfound fear of dogs, especially Danny. Frankly, Sam had been surprised by it himself. Dean had warned him of how Joxer had attacked Gordon, but Sam had only considered that the dog had saved his family. He hadn’t thought of how the attack would look from the eyes of a child.

When Danny slowly took the dog from Rose’s hand and smiled tentatively up at her, Sam blew out a sigh of relief.

“I know these won’t take the place of the friends you lost,” Rose explained, squatting down so she was on eye level with the children. “But maybe when you get really lonely, they’ll be something for you to hug.”

”What do you say?” Sam prompted.

“Thank you,” Michael obediently answered.

Rose straightened. “You’re welcome, sweetie.”

“Guys, why don’t you see if DeeDee is awake?” Sam suggested. “You can show him your dogs and tell him that Rose is here.”

”Okay,” Michael agreed. He took Danny by the hand and the walked off towards the living room.

“It’s hard to believe that’s the same four year-old that I saw at the summer picnic,” Rose said sadly. 

“Yeah, we’re pretty worried about him. From what Dean and Michael have told us, it was pretty damn scary.” Sam shook himself. “I take it this,” he brandished the casserole, “is for us?”

“Yes, Tater Tot Hot Dish,” Rose followed Sam as he headed into the kitchen. Sam had swept the materials off the table after Bobby had told him she was on her way up the drive. “Dean’s favorite, right?”

Sam grinned as he put the dish in the refrigerator. “Right. You’ve made him one very happy man.”

“Who’s happy?”

Both of them looked up at the raspy voice. Dean must have been awake when the boys went in, but obviously hadn’t been up long. He looked tired, pale and thoroughly rumpled.

“Holy crap,” Rose exclaimed. “Dean you look terrible.”

Dean smirked. “Thanks for the kind words there, Rose. You’re good for the ol’ ego.”

She stepped forward and hugged him carefully. “You know you always look yummy, Dean Winchester, you’re just not quite at your normal double fudge sundae level of yumminess.”

“Really?” Dean raised one eyebrow. “How yummy am I?”

Rose studied him. “An Oreo cookie.” When Dean winched, she hastened to clarify. “But a double stuff one.”

Dean sighed and used the crutches to make it to a chair. “Man. That’s bad.”

“But she brought you Tater Tot Hot Dish,” Sam tried to cheer Dean up. Unlike what had gone on with Jo, he didn’t find Rose and Dean’s flirting threatening. It was so over the top that clearly neither one of them meant anything by it.

“And I brought you something too, Sam.” Rose looked rather rueful as she took one last thing out of the bag and handed it to him. It was a folder and Sam knew without looking that it was the pile of tests he hadn’t finished grading.

“Thanks,” he commented sardonically.

“I talked to David,” Rose stated, referring to the department head. “He said to tell you that he’d be by in a couple of days, after things have settled down a bit. They already entered incompletes for all of your students, but if you can get the grades finished by the time next semester starts, he’d be grateful.”

Sam nodded absently. He loved his job, but hadn’t given it a second thought since the attack. He wasn’t sleeping much lately, so maybe he’d find the time. 

“David also said to tell you to let him know if you’re going to need some time at the start of next semester,” Rose added. “Missy said she could take your classes for a week or two. Said she still owes you for helping her out when she was put on bed rest last year.”

Next semester, Sam was only scheduled to teach a couple of sessions of an introductory anthropology class, which would be easy enough for another professor to take. During the semester that had just finished, he’d taught an junior level class on the occult that no other professor was qualified to handle.

“Thanks, Rose,” he said, meaning it. “Please tell everyone I. . . we. . . really appreciate it.”

“Anything we can do,” Rose answered, patting his hand. “You just let us know.”

It was a sentiment that was repeated throughout the day. Rose had no more left before the next visitor arrived. This time it was Raphael Whitefeather, a contractor that Dean worked with.

After Michael was born and he’d finally recovered from the birth, Dean had gone to work for Hank, the general contractor that that Sam had been working for. By the time they’d left Virginia, Dean had nearly achieved his electrician’s certification. Once in Minnesota, he’d easily finished it, but Dean hadn’t wanted to start his own business. Nor was he particularly interested in going to work for someone else. Instead, Dean did freelance work for a number of contractors, giving him the flexibility that he craved. The family’s insurance was carried through Sam’s job, so it didn’t really matter. Even after four years in Virginia, Dean wasn’t used to being in one place all the time. If variety in his work made not moving around bearable for his brother, then Sam was all for it.

Raphael was one of the contractors Dean worked for the most often and apparently he came on behalf of many of the others.

“The guys held an emergency union meeting,” Raphael explained after he handed over a Tator Tot Hot Dish. “We took up a collection. We’re gonna offer a cash reward for anyone who has information that helps get that bastard off the streets.”

Sam could tell that Dean didn’t know what to say. Sam put his hand on Dean’s shoulder and smiled at the other man. “Thank you.”

“It isn’t much,” Raphael shrugged. “But anybody that’d go after kids has gotta be stopped and that’s everybody’s responsibility.” He tilted his head and winked at Dean. “We don’t really give a shit about you being shot.”

Dean smirked briefly, but then sobered. “Still, it’s pretty cool. Thanks, Raph.”

Raphael stood, no more comfortable with emotional scenes than Dean. “Don’t mention it. Just let us know when you’re ready to come back to work. We’ll find some nice cushy residential jobs for you so you don’t have to strain too much.” He frowned at Dean. “You look like crap.”

“So I’ve heard,” Dean responded, pointedly ignoring the look of long-suffering that Sam shot his way.

They had a break until lunchtime and then a guest they had to be more careful around arrived. Officer Nick Cummins of the St. Peter police was a nice guy, but was also a trained observer. If the Winchesters wanted their own hunt to go on undetected, and they did, he was one they had to be wary around.

“That’s quite a security system you have,” Officer Cummins complimented them as he accepted a seat on the couch. Even with the research materials hidden, neither Sam nor Dean really wanted the man in the kitchen.

“I’m an electrician,” Dean shrugged and then tried to cover up the involuntary wince as the movement caused him pain. “You know how it is, you see stuff on the job and think it’d be cool to have at home.”

“Besides, it’s kind of isolated out here,” Sam added. “And with two little kids, safety has always been a priority.”

The policeman nodded. “So what is your set-up anyway?”

“Motion detectors at the edge of the property and again close to the house. Proximity alarms throughout. They’re all linked to floodlights,” Dean answered readily. He was relaxed, but Sam could see it was forced. This man wasn’t their enemy, but could cause them trouble if they weren’t careful. “Standard secure entry on the doors and breaking glass alarms on the windows.”

Cummins blinked. “That hardly sounds standard to me.”

“We’re a gay couple raising two boys,” Sam said bluntly. “People are a lot more liberal here than in Virginia, where we lived before, but we thought it best not to take chances.”

“I guess I can understand that,” Cummins nodded.

What he probably wouldn’t have understood was the modified storm shelter in the basement. A couple of years before the Winchesters had moved to St. Peter, a tornado had ripped through the town, causing major damage. It hadn’t raised too many eyebrows when the Winchesters had ordered the components of an in-house storm shelter, made with the same ballistic material used in soft body armor. After the tornado, they were hardly the only people in the area who had one. What made the Winchesters’ different was the layers of protective symbols that had gone underneath the storm shelter. It wasn’t just a place to ride out the weather; it was a paranormal bomb shelter.

Officer Cummins dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He thumbed through it and took out a couple of pictures. “Remember how I said I had son about your older boy’s age? This is him, his name is Noah. Turns out he goes to a different school than your Michael, but they played against each other in community soccer.”

Dean and Sam both looked politely at the photo. The youngster didn’t look familiar, but then there were lots of kids who played soccer.

“Good looking boy,” Dean commented.

Cummins smiled. He fumbled with the second picture, but then seemed to come to a decision and held it up. “This is my niece, Penny.” He took a deep breath. “She’s my sister’s kid, but her. . . her wife was the one who gave birth to her. When they asked me to be the sperm donator, I said sure and I’ve never thought of her as anything but my niece. . . . but when I think that she could have been the one this man attacked, it makes my stomach turn.”

Officer Cummins was lost in his thoughts, but Sam exchanged a guilty look with Dean. The authorities still believed the attack to be a hate crime because Sam and Dean were gay. How many other parents were agonizing because of that mistake? 

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Dean said awkwardly. “You guys will catch the creep and all of our kids will be safe again.”

“From your lips to God’s ears,” Cummins responded. He got up. “Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time today. Like I told your father, we’ll have squad cars out here several times a day, just to be safe.”

”Thank you,” Sam said as he rose and helped Dean to his feet. 

They started walking Officer Cummins to the door when the other man stopped and snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot. I’ve got a hot dish out in the car. The missus would kill me if I forgot to give it to you.”

“That’s awfully nice of her,” Sam thanked him. 

“Is it Tater Tot?” Dean asked shamelessly. 

“No, I’m sorry, it’s tuna.” Officer Cummins looked embarrassed. “Is that okay?”

”It’s fine,” Sam assured him, glaring at Dean before he could say anything. “It’s very thoughtful, thank you.”

By dinnertime, even Dean had enough Tater Tot hot dish to satisfy him. Officer Cummins’ visits were followed by two neighbors; the pastor of the church that Sam and the boys attended; and, finally, Michael’s teacher. Their concern was touching and each came bearing some sort of food item. Their freezer was well stocked.

John was acting as sentry after dinner. They’d had a lot of visitors by the time it started to get dark, but Sam’s heart still sped a little every time the phone rang, indicating another one. 

“Yeah,” Sam answered.

“All right, son,” John explained, sounding unusually nervous. “The car coming up is definitely a HuggyBear,” that was their pre-arranged symbol that everything was okay. “Just. . . give ‘em a chance, okay?”

”Dad?” 

“Just don’t shoot first,” John cautioned him before hanging up. “We could use an extra gun.”

Sam should have been warned by his father’s words, but he wasn’t. When he opened the front door and saw Jo Harvelle standing there, ready to knock, it was like a punch to the gut.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He demanded harshly.

“It’s nice to see you too, Sam,” she stated sarcastically. 

Sam leaned against the door frame, using every inch he had to loom over the petite blond. “You have some nerve showing up here.”

To his surprise, Jo blushed, the pink of her cheeks showing a thin scar that ran from the corner of her eye all the way down her chin. The scar was new, as was the hesitant look in her eye. Jo Harvelle was many things, but hesitant was not usually one of them. At least, there had been nothing tentative about her one-sided romantic pursuit of Dean.

“Look, I know I’m probably the last person in the world you want to see, but I want to help get this bastard,” Jo stated. 

Sam snorted. “And why should I believe you? For all I know, you wanted to get me and the kids out of the way so you could have Dean all to yourself. That sounds like a pretty good motive for you to be working with Gordon Walker, if you ask me.”

Jo rolled her eyes. “Look, I’m not stupid Sam. If anything happened to you or his kids, Dean Winchester would only live long enough to avenge you. Even if you think I’m low enough to hurt kids, at least give me credit for being smarter than that.”

“I’ll repeat myself,” Sam said with a curled lip. “Why should I believe you?”

”No reason in the world,” came a sweet voice from just outside the door. “But maybe you’ll believe me.”

Jo moved aside and Sam realized that someone was with her. When that someone stepped into the light, he recognized who it was. 

Sam gaped. Missouri Mosely was the absolute last person he expected at their door. Not because she didn’t care, Missouri had been extremely upset when called with the news about what had happened, but because she was already committed to helping another hunter’s family. It was ironic in a tragic sort of way. Joshua was the hunter who’d pointed Sam to a faith healer years ago when Dean’s condition following an electrocution was declared to be fatal, an action which ultimately saved Dean’s life. Now Joshua’s wife was ill with ovarian cancer and there was no paranormal cure in sight. Missouri had moved in with the family, helping care for the terminally ill woman and offering what support to the family that she could.

“Sam Winchester, are you just going to stand there catching flies or are you going to let us in?” Missouri chided him. She didn’t wait for an answer, just elbowed her way inside. Jo, however, waited until Sam followed the older woman before entering the home.

“Missouri, what’s going on?” Sam asked. “What are you doing here with her?”

“I’m making sure you don’t kill her,” Missouri told him bluntly. “Child, you need help and Jo’s offering. Don’t let your pride get in the way of a helping hand.”

“This woman made our lives miserable,” Sam protested. 

Missouri’s expression softened. “I know and believe me when I tell you that I wouldn’t have given her the time of day if I wasn’t sure she had your best interests at heart.” She leaned forward and spoke softly enough that only Sam could hear her. “I know it’s hard, but she needs to be here, honey. You have to trust me on this.”

Sam looked from one woman to another. It was Missouri’s sincere expression that convinced him. As much as he hated to admit it, though, they did need the help. The need to protect the family was paramount, but they were spread too thin to do any effective hunting of Gordon Walker. Sam hadn’t wanted to ask anyone else for assistance, since he didn’t know who to trust. He didn’t like Jo Harvelle and could have happily gone the rest of his life without seeing her again, but if Missouri said they could trust her, then they could.

“Aunt Missouri?” 

Michael came out of the kitchen tentatively, followed by Danny. Unlike his older brother, though, there was no hesitation on Danny’s part. He barreled down the hall and launched himself at Missouri, who steadied herself with a soft oof of expelled air.

“Hey there, darlin’,” Missouri stroked the little boy’s hair and reached to pull Michael in for a hug as soon as he was close enough. “And how are you doing?”

“What’s she doing here?” Michael ignored his favorite aunt’s question to glare at Jo.

Sam stifled a grin. Jo’s relentless pursuit of Dean had started shortly after Danny was born, back when Danny’s gift was too weak to quell Michael’s ability to sense emotions. The little boy had felt the woman’s emotions and, while he hadn’t understood what was going on, hadn’t liked it one little bit.

“That is no way to greet a visitor,” Missouri corrected him when she realized that Sam obviously wasn’t going to. “I swear, you get more like your father every day.”

“She doesn’t like DaSa,” Michael said obstinately, jutting his chin out. “And she likes DeeDee too much.”

When Jo shuffled uncomfortably, Sam didn’t bother to hide the grin anymore. 

“We’ll have to keep a close eye on her,” Sam explained. “Miss Jo is going to be staying with us for a little while.”

“I am?” Jo asked, obviously relieved, but surprised.

“You are,” Sam confirmed. “But only for as long as you behave yourself. The second you become more trouble than you’re worth, you’re gone.”

“Fair enough,” Jo straightened and for the first time Sam realized she was carrying a duffle bag. “Where do you want me to stow my stuff?”

“Boys, show Miss Jo the guest room upstairs,” Sam instructed his kids. Even if she was helping them, there was no chance that he was going to let her sleep downstairs with his family. 

Jo gave Missouri one last look before following Michael and Danny upstairs. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” Missouri responded. “They need the help, otherwise I’d not intervened.” She gave Jo a warning look. “Don’t you go making me sorry for putting in a good word for you. I’ll know if you act up or, better yet, Liddy’ll know.”

Swallowing heavily, Jo hefted her bag. “I know and I won’t. Promise.”

After they were gone, Missouri stepped forward and wrapped Sam in a big hug. “And how are you holding up, darlin’?”

“I’m doing okay,” Sam assured her, returning the embrace.

Missouri gave a last squeeze before stepping back. She gave Sam the eagle eye, but having kids himself had toughened him to its effects. “I’m not sure I believe you, but it’ll do for now.” She rubbed her hands together. “Where’s that brother of yours? I heard some such nonsense about him checking himself out of the hospital against medical advice. My spoon hand is getting itchy.”

As much as he was frustrated by Dean’s action, neither could Sam stand by and watch his brother be chastised for it by Missouri. Dean just wasn’t up to it.

“Go easy on him, okay?” Sam implored. “He’s had a rough couple of days.”

Missouri patted his arm. “Oh honey, you all have. Don’t worry, I won’t give him the talking to he deserves. I have to say something, though. If I don’t give him some vinegar, he’ll think I won’t love him anymore.” She sighed. “And I’ll be the one to tell him about Jo.” She held up a hand to stall Sam’s protest. “If it weren’t for me, she wouldn’t be here, so in a way, I’m responsible. Let me be the one he gets angry at, I’ll be flying out of here in the morning, so I won’t have to put up with his bitching about it anyway.” She winked at Sam. “You can be the comforting one.”

Sam couldn’t help but be relieved as Missouri headed off to the kitchen. Having Jo around was going to be a necessary evil. It hadn’t taken much to convince him, though, that her presence was worth the potential unpleasantness having her around could cause.

But he was still glad he wasn’t the one that would have to tell Dean about it.

~to be continued in Hunter part 5-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted February 28, 2007


	41. Hunter - part 5

Dean Winchester did not like to be coddled. Pampering was okay, because it often involved mutual pleasure or was a reward for a job well done. Coddling, on the other hand, implied he was weak or incapable of doing something and that rankled. It seemed like everyone in the family, right down to the four year-old, was determined to coddle him.

It hadn’t taken Dean long to realize that having Jo around was a good idea, if an unpleasant one. The look on Sam’s face as Missouri explained things was priceless. His brother was clearly torn between wanting Dean to be convinced and being disgusted with the whole thing. Liddy, on the other hand, wasn’t torn at all. Upon hearing the news, she let loose a long string of expletives that made Dean blush. For the first time ever, his stepmother had to contribute to the Swear Jar and from that one outburst, had to drop in more money than Dean had in the last month.

Thankfully, Dean hadn’t had to interact with Jo. Even when the two of them were in the same room, it seemed like at least one family member was between her and Dean at all times. The kids, in particular, seemed determined to act as a buffer. That was a bit troubling, because Dean couldn’t help but wonder if the boys, especially Michael, were picking up on something. Later, when Sam helped him upstairs to take a shower, he had a chance to ask his brother about it.

“Sammy, you know this thing with having Jo around,” Dean commented as he stood underneath the warm spray. The shower curtain was pulled closed and Sam was waiting just beyond, ready to give Dean any assistance should it prove necessary. The privacy let Dean be just a little more comfortable in broaching the subject than he would have been otherwise. “You know that she still does nothing for me, right?”

There was silence for a moment and then a draft of cool air blew in as the shower curtain was yanked aside. Sam was heedless of the water as he stood there.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Sam demanded. “Of course I know that, you idiot.”

Dean blinked the water out of his eyes. “I just. . . the kids are hanging so close, I just didn’t want anybody to think that I’d ever do anything. . . .” Sam’s face darkened and Dean changed tactics. “I swear, if that bitch even tries to touch my ass, I’m laying her out. I don’t care if she’s a girl and if it sets a bad example for the boys, I’m gonna deck her.”

Sam stepped into the shower, fully clothed, and kissed Dean silent. There was a lot of heat in the kiss and most of it couldn’t be attributed to the warm shower water either. Dean moaned and leaned into it. There’d been too much stress for any passion since Gordon Walker had so violently reentered their lives.

“You would never cheat on me. Ever.” Sam’s voice wasn’t entirely steady. “And you never have to worry about me or anyone else in this family doubting you. The kids are just feeling a little protective is all.”

“That’s my job,” Dean growled, frustrated.

“Our job,” Sam corrected him. “Now, come on, let’s get you lathered up. If we’re in here too long, Michael and Danny’ll come in to investigate.”

Dean sighed. “It’s too bad I’m not up for more than lathering. It’s been too long.”

“There’ll be time for that after Gordon Walker’s in the ground,” Sam assured him.

The way Sam said that worried Dean; his brother wasn’t a killer. Dean was tired, though, and the water was warm; he just didn’t have the energy to talk about it. When they were done and both of them dry, he was happy to have Sam help him downstairs, where he immediately went to bed. Jo was nowhere to be seen and that suited Dean just fine. 

With all the visitors and the unrelenting stress of Gordon Walker still being on the loose, Dean was exhausted and went to sleep quickly, his sons again pressed close. He had a moment of panic when he woke in the middle of the night and the boys weren’t with him. It hurt like hell when he sat up too quickly but was worth it when he saw them stretched out on a nearby air mattress. Sam must have moved the kids after they’d fallen asleep and, once he was over his scare, Dean was grateful for that. Both boys were bed hogs and took up far more of a bed than they should, given their size.

“Dean?” John’s hushed voice came out of the darkness. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean answered, keeping his voice equally soft. 

He and the boys weren’t the only ones bedded down in the living room. Liddy was on the other couch and, now that he was more awake, Dean could see Sam stretched out on the floor. The inflatable mattress hadn’t been made that could accommodate his brother’s tall form.

“You need anything?” John asked.

Dean sighed. More coddling and from the unlikeliest of sources. “No, I’m good.” 

He laid back down and was tempted to poke Sam awake, so he could come up onto the sofa bed and join him. Dean didn’t, though. Sam’s feet would hang off the mattress and it would hardly be comfortable for him. From what Dean could see, Sam needed the sleep. His brother had circles under his eyes and an almost-constant frown that probably indicated a headache. Sam continued to be awfully evasive about the vision that had saved Dean and the boys’ lives, but Dean knew it had to have been a bad one. At some point, he was going to have to get Sam to open up to him about it; yet another thing for the to do list for after Gordon was dead.

Sighing, Dean went back to sleep.

Luckily for his sanity’s sake, Missouri was the one person not intent on coddling him. The next morning, Missouri ordered him around just like she did everyone else, even if she didn’t threaten him with a spoon. There was a noticeable lack of visitors and he had a feeling that Missouri had something to do with that. In any case, he’d noticed her talking intently with John and Bobby early on in the morning and since they were the two taking turns acting as sentries, he had a feeling they’d been given instructions to start turning people away. Dean appreciated that development. He never would have figured that just talking to people would be so tiring, but with no one stopping by that he had to put up a front for, he made it through lunch without having to take a nap.

After lunch, Missouri had to be taken to the airport for her return flight to Kansas. Jo pulled that duty and used the car she’d rented to do it. After a flurry of hugs and kisses, and a last threat to Dean about taking care of himself, Missouri was gone. John left soon after, escorting Liddy to the grocery store to pick up some much-needed supplies. That left Sam and Bobby as the only able-bodied adults and they were a little tense about it. 

Dean hated to admit it, even to himself, but he wasn’t in any shape to help with the physical protection of their family. The best he could do was keep the boys out of the other men’s hair so that they could concentrate. About an hour after John and Liddy left, Dean had Michael and Danny follow him into the kitchen.

“Alright, Mikey, I suppose you’re old enough,” Dean told his son. He pulled a jar and a bottle out of the cabinet, wincing a little when the motion pulled at the wound in his back. Then he dug out a bowl and a couple of utensils. “It’s time to teach you a Winchester family secret. Danny, you watch and when you get a little older, it’ll be your turn.”

Michael’s eyes got wide. “DeeDee, you mean it?”

“Absolutely,” Dean confirmed. “I think you’re old enough to learn how to make peanut butter and syrup.”

“Wow,” Michael breathed in awe. Danny looked suitably impressed.

Dean seated himself at the kitchen table and Danny immediately came to stand next to him. Dean wrapped an arm around the little boy’s waist and Danny clambered onto his lap, thankfully choosing to sit on Dean’s good leg. 

“How do I start, DeeDee?” Michael wiggled with excitement.

“You start with the peanut butter,” Dean instructed. “Put a big blob into the bowl.”

Michael eagerly opened the jar and scooped out some sticky stuff with a big spoon. He dumped it into the bowl and looked at Dean expectantly.

“Okay, now some syrup,” Dean told him. 

It was harder for Michael to open the Karo syrup bottle, but Dean didn’t offer to help. His fingers twitched as he watched his son struggle with it, but he refrained. Dean knew it would undermine Michael’s confidence if his dad had to help him with a sticky bottle cap. Finally, though, Michael got it.

“How much?” He asked.

“Until it looks right,” Dean answered. “Just pour, I’ll tell you when.”

With Danny looking on avidly, Michael carefully tipped the syrup bottle, the viscous clear liquid coming out slow and lazy. Michael held the bottle too straight, though, and Dean could tell that he was going to end up with too much.

“Whoa, that’s enough.”

Michael put the bottle down and looked up at his father. “What now?”

“Now you stir,” Dean handed him a dull table knife.

With his tongue sticking out in concentration, the boy started stirring and Dean surreptitiously moved back a couple of inches. He and Danny still got splattered, but not too badly. When Michael was done, Dean had him lift the knife and let the concoction drip off while he and Danny studied it.

“What do you think, Danny?” Dean asked his youngest. Unlike the other adults, he never prompted Danny to try and speak. He just took care to ask the youngster questions that could be answered nonverbally. 

Danny looked at the stuff dripping off Michael’s knife and wrinkled his nose. 

Dean nodded. “I agree, it’s too thin.”

“What do I do?” Michael asked.

“More peanut butter.”

“More peanut butter,” Michael repeated, diving into the jar again.

It went like that for several minutes, with first more peanut butter being added and then more syrup. Dean had figured that would happen and was glad he’d gotten out a much bigger bowl that what he usually used. Finally, though, when Michael did the drip test for Dean and Danny’s inspection, it seemed about right.

“Now we taste it,” Dean told the boys. With shared grins, they all three stuck their fingers in. A burst of rich sweetness enveloped Dean’s mouth. “Mmmm, mmmmm. Mikey, you done good.” Danny just nodded vigorously.

Michael smiled wider than Dean had seen him do in days. When his son reached in for another finger full, though, Dean stopped him.

“Fingers are the appropriate utensil for tasting, but we need spoons to really chow down,” he told Michael. With Sam in the building, the niceties had to be observed. He poked at Danny. “Why don’t you see if there’s any bread left? Mikey, get a whole pile of spoons while you’re at it.”

The boys eagerly set to their tasks and soon all three of them were digging into the communal bowl. Michael and Dean dipped the bread in the peanut butter and syrup, but Danny preferred it straight.

“DeeDee, if I’m old enough to do this, I’m old enough to do lots of stuff,” Michael stated. His face was serious, if a little sticky.

“Yeah?” Dean asked. He had a feeling from what Sam had mentioned that he knew what was coming, but wanted to wait until Michael told him. “Like what?”

“Like using my gift to hunt the bad man,” Michael explained eagerly. “I bet I could help you find him.”

Dean took a bite while he pretended to think about it. “I’m sure you could, but you’re not going to.”

“But DeeDee,” Michael’s voice was perilously close to a whine. “Why?”

“Two reasons,” Dean brandished a spoon at him. “First, I bet you already asked DaSa about this and he said no.” When the boy was slow to respond, Dean got a little firmer. “Didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Michael wouldn’t look at his father. “But it’s important.”

Michael, and Danny too, were good kids, but they were still kids and not above a little parental manipulation. Sam and Dean had decided early on that they’d need a united front, so it was a firm rule that asking one father for something after the other had already said no was a sure-fire way to get in trouble.

Dean sighed. “I know it’s important, so that’s why — just this once — I’m gonna break the rule.” The rule was that if the child didn’t like an answer given by one father, he’d discuss it with both of them together. “Did DaSa give you a reason why he said no?”

Michael shook his head. “He just said no.”

“Well, that’s because doing things like hunting down bad guys is work for the police,” Dean explained. “Or, in rare cases like this, your dads.”

“But I could help,” Michael protested. “I know I could.”

“Look, Mikey, there’s kid work and grown-up work and looking for bad guys is definitely grown-up work,” Dean pointed out. “Remember when you wanted to watch that grown-up movie and DaSa and I wouldn’t let you? What happened when you watched it at Richie’s house when you slept over?”

Michael sighed. “I got scared and had bad dreams for a week.”

“So maybe DaSa and I know what we’re talking about, huh?” Dean questioned gently. At Michael’s dejected nod, he relented a little. “I know you want to help, but what you don’t know is that you’re already helping.”

“I am?” Michael’s face brightened a little.

“You bet,” Dean assured him. “It’s not easy being cooped up in the house, but both of you are being very good and doing exactly what we tell you. That’s really important right now.”

“I suppose,” Michael sighed. The kitchen was quiet for a few minutes, except for the smacking of lips as the Winchester men ate their snack. “DeeDee?”

“Yeah?” 

“Is Danny ever going to talk again?” Michael asked.

Dean squeezed the four year-old as Danny just kept on eating. “Sure he will. Just give him time.”

Michael frowned. “But why isn’t he talking now?”

“When I was Danny’s age, I saw something bad happen to my mom,” Dean said by way of an explanation. “And when you’re that little and you see something bad, you don’t always know how to tell people how scared and confused you are. It’s like all the emotions inside you get too big and choke everything off.” He smiled in reassurance at his oldest. “But see? I’m talking now, just like normal. And Danny will too.”

“But DaSa says it’s sometimes harder than getting blood from a rock than to get you to say something important,” Michael pointed out, clearly worried. “Maybe you never got fixed, really fixed, and maybe Danny won’t either.”

“What’s important right now is to be patient with Danny and let him know he’s loved and safe. The talking will come back on its own, trust me.” Dean’s voice lowered to a mutter. “Sometimes your DaSa talks too much, if you ask me”

“Ask you what?” Sam came into the kitchen just at the tail end of Dean’s comment. He didn’t wait for an answer, though, instead dismayed by what he saw his husband and sons doing. “Dean, I can’t believe you made that stuff for them. Do you have any idea how bad it is for you?”

Even as he said it, though, Sam was edging towards the table, his fingers twitching. Dean smirked. Sam talked a good talk, but he loved peanut butter and syrup as much as the rest of them.

“I didn’t make it,” Dean retorted, eyes wide with innocence. “Mikey did.”

“Michael?” Sam looked at the eight year-old, who was beaming with pride. “Well, in that case, I better try some.”

Without further ado, Sam grabbed a spoon and dipped it in. The ecstasy on his face when he took a bite said everything.

“Good, huh?” Dean prompted him.

“The best,” Sam ruffled Michael’s hair. “You did a great job.”

Michael giggled. “I thought it wasn’t good for us?”

“It’s not,” Sam replied. “But sometimes things can be good for the soul.”

“That’s a fancy way of saying he likes it,” Dean translated for the boys. “And I should hope so, I made it up just for him.”

“You invented peanut butter and syrup?” Michael asked, clearly awed.

“Well, I had to,” Dean said with false modesty. “Your DaSa wanted something for dessert real bad and Grandpa hadn’t left us anything. I had to come up with something sweet or he was gonna cry like a baby.”

“I was not,” Sam protested.

“Oh you were too,” Dean grinned. “You were all of, what? Three? Real cute when you threw temper tantrums too.”

“You know what I think?” Sam said in a deceptively mild voice. “I think you guys need a big ol’ kiss.” He took a spoonful of the sticky stuff and coated his lips with it. “Who wants to be first?”

The boys shrieked and ran, laughing. Dean’s bad leg kept him grounded, but the boys made up for that by running around the kitchen. Sam made as though to chase them, but swooped down on Dean at the last minute. With Michael and Danny laughing and clapping, Sam kissed him thoroughly. It was sticky and sweet, but that didn’t bother Dean a bit. He was just happy to see the tension they’d all be under for days lighten a little, even if it was temporary.

When Sam broke off the kiss to chase the kids again, Dean looked over and saw Jo staring through the kitchen window. She must have gotten back from the airport and heard the children’s voices and thought something bad was happening. Dean nodded at her solemnly, not wanting to encourage her, but thankful for her watchfulness. Oddly enough, she looked haunted as she watched the family interact. Turning away, she silently walked away.

The brief encounter put a little bit of a shadow on the happy moment, but Dean told himself that it was necessary. He wasn’t going to skimp on showing his husband and kids that he loved them, no matter Jo’s hurt feelings. Years ago when he was pregnant with Michael, he’d made it clear to his father that he and Sam were a couple and were going to act like a couple, no matter what John thought about it. 

Jo would just have to learn the same thing.

~to be continued in Hunter part 6~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted March 1, 2007


	42. Hunter - part 6

Sam leaned against the window frame as he looked outside, but most of his attention was internal. A week ago, Dean had been making ready to take their kids to the park and the most bloody thing Sam was contemplating was the red ink needed to grade exam papers. Seven short days later and his husband was injured, his kids traumatized, and their family’s sense of peace disrupted, perhaps forever.

And the man responsible for all of that was still at large.

None of their leads had panned out. John, Bobby, Sam and Jo worked in sets of two, one pair in the field and one guarding the home. Between the four of them, they’d visited all the local hunters they knew, checked every bolt hole they’d heard of, and interviewed anyone known to have had contact in the past with Gordon. They came up with nothing, as did Ellen. From her reports, the hunting community was stirred up like a hornet’s nest, with no one happy at the idea that one of their own had gone after another hunter’s children. Even Ash’s delving into Gordon’s prison records had turned up nothing important. It was as though Gordon Walker didn’t exist outside of Sam’s nightmares.

It was little consolation that the authorities were having the same problem. They didn’t have the DNA testing back yet, so they had no name to put to the attacker and their manhunt had turned up empty as well. Sam and his group did get one good idea from the cops, though, and that was to check with medical facilities. Joxer had taken a chunk out of Gordon and the sheriff’s office had put the word out to hospitals and doctor’s offices in the area to be on the lookout for any men fitting the attacker’s description coming in to get dog bites treated. Sam and his group were checking into less official healers and the like, but still nothing. Apparently Gordon was self medicating as well, but if he had been injured, it explained why he was laying low.

Sam leaned his forehead against the cool pane of the window, but it did little to quell the headache that had been his constant companion since that initial vision. He was beyond frustrated. It felt like he was doing everything he could think of to protect his family and end the threat against them, but nothing was working. Sam couldn’t help but remember how Dean had protected him all the years they were growing up and thinking that his older brother would be doing a much better job, if he were the able-bodied one.

Every day it was more apparent that Dean had checked himself out of the hospital too soon. A fever was still plaguing him and there was a rattle in his chest that worried Sam. Dean had finally relented and allowed Sam to haul him to the doctor, although he bitched about it the entire time. They’d decided it was best not to split up, so leaving Bobby behind to watch the house, they’d gone into town en masse. Sam had driven Dean and the boys, while John and Liddy were in another vehicle in front of them and Jo brought up the rear. Other than the doctor giving Dean a lecture about taking care of himself, however, it had been an uneventful trip. Sam had suggested stopping at McDonalds and letting the kids play, which had turned out all right, even though the adults were too keyed up to really enjoy it. Danny and Michael had fun, though, so it had been deemed a success.

Michael became quite the expert at making peanut butter and syrup. Dean’s appetite had never really come back and the strong antibiotic he’d been given didn’t help matters. Sam knew he was being manipulative, but if Michael made the sticky dessert, then Dean would eat it. Sam consoled himself with the fact that the stuff was loaded with calories. At the moment, Dean needed all he could get.

The boys stayed strictly in the house and that wasn’t entirely because of security. Rather, it was because of the canine security measures. Danny wouldn’t so much as look out the window at the dogs and even Michael wouldn’t go near them. Bobby had tried to bring the most friendly of the Pugs, Shaggy, into the house so the boys could get used to him, but Danny had freaked. Sam had picked him up right away and the boy refused to touch foot to the floor until the dog had been out of the house for almost an hour.

The low rumble of an engine cut through the morning air and Sam straightened. His father had phoned that they had a visitor, the whole reason that Sam had been looking out the window in the first place. He was out the door as soon as the motorcycle came into view.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Sam demanded as the rider parked the bike and took off his helmet.

“I came to help,” Ash said with a grin as he shook out his long blond hair. “I heard that Jo was here, so I thought I’d come too.”

Sam did his best not to grab Ash’s helmet and shove it back onto his head. “But what can you do?” Sam was vaguely aware of the door opening and shutting behind him.

Ash’s smile slipped a little. “I can work my research mojo, maybe get a line on ol’ Gordy.”

“And you can do that better here than you can at the Roadhouse?” Sam asked sarcastically. He whirled at the clomping sound of crutches coming down the porch stairs. “What are you doing out here without a coat?”

Dean had learned to take stairs quickly, preferring to get them over with before the pain caught up to him. There were only a couple of porch steps and he was down them before Sam could offer to help. Dean looked at his brother a moment silently, trying to catch his breath. The weather in Minnesota was unpredictable in the autumn, but had lately turned crisp. Dean’s breath wasn’t visible in the air, but it was definitely nippy. Even so, Dean reacted predictably to the admonishment.

“Have you seen our kids?” Dean asked. “They’re about yea big and yea big.” He sketched out the approximate heights of the boys with one of his crutches. His eyes narrowed. “I’m not either one of them, so you can put that apron away, Mommy.”

Sam blew his bangs out of his eyes. Dean was one step away from pneumonia and being underdressed was foolish, but just try telling him that.

“As I was saying,” Sam turned back to Ash. “Why do you think you can do better research here?”

Ash shrugged. “Hey, when you’re as talented as I am, it don’t matter where you actually work the mojo.”

”Then why are you here?” Sam asked, rapidly running out of patience.

“My considerable computer skills aren’t my only talents,” Ash replied smugly. “I thought you could use another hand. Knowing how you feel about the fair Miss Jo, I figured you must be pretty hard up if you’ll accept her help.”

“Well, the difference is that Jo can defend herself in a fight,” Sam retorted. “And she may be a bitch, but she knows her way around a gun. Can you say the same?” Ash blinked, clearly not used to hearing that tone from Sam. “You can’t, can you? The fact is that Michael is better with a gun than you are and he’s only played with fake ones at the arcade. Go home, Ash. We already have enough non-combatants to protect.”

“Sam.” Dean sounded shocked.

Sam didn’t budge; he couldn’t afford to. Their resources were spread thin enough without adding yet another body that had to be protected. “At the Roadhouse you’re an asset, but here you’re a liability, Ash, and we can’t afford another one of those.”

Ash paled, but didn’t argue. With unsteady hands, he began to put his helmet on. “All right.”

“No, it’s not all right,” Dean limped forward. “Sam, what the hell is wrong with you? Ash, stay. Of course we can use another hand.”

“No, I don’t want to drag you guys down,” Ash blinked rapidly. “Just tell the little guys I said hi.”

“At least stay for lunch or something. Rest up a little before the ride back,” Dean pleaded. “Michael and Danny’ll be upset if they find out you were here and didn’t even come in. Besides, I’d like for you to look over the security system, see if you have any suggestions.”

Ash let himself be convinced to get off the motorcycle and come into the house, much to Sam’s frustration. He liked the other man and was grateful for his help, but the last thing he needed was someone else to take care of. Sam trailed behind Ash and Dean, ignoring the concerned glances his brother kept throwing him.

“I gotta tell you, man, you look like shit,” Ash was saying to Dean bluntly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“No, he’s not okay,” Sam interjected. “He should be in bed, resting.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dean waved off Sam’s protests and winked at Ash. “He just wants to keep me in bed all the time. You know the type.”

Ash’s responding smile was a little sickly around the edges. “Yeah, I get that all the time.”

“Uncle Ash!” Michael and Danny had been building forts in the living room, but came to greet the newcomer happily. “You came to visit.”

“Something like that,” Ash replied, looking at Sam nervously.

Michael took Ash by the hand and tugged him further into the room. “Good. You can help us build a castle to keep DeeDee safe while he sleeps.”

“I’ll do you even one better,” Ash ruffled the youngster’s hair. “I’ll rev up your dad’s security system, make it sing. That way everyone can sleep safe.” He looked at Dean. “Show me what you got.”

Dean smirked. “I thought you’d never ask.” He gestured Ash to proceed him and they went to inspect the security measures. As Dean passed his brother, though, he leaned in to whisper in his ear. “You and I are gonna talk about this later.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, we will.”

In the end, Ash stayed several hours. He declared himself impressed with Dean’s security set-up, but offered a couple of improvements, even going so far as to go into town to pick up some more advanced motion detectors. He stayed for lunch, but despite Dean and the boys’ efforts, could not be convinced to tarry any longer.

“Look, your Uncle Ash, he’s in high demand,” Ash explained to the kids as he said goodbye. “I’ll come around again soon, I promise.”

Disappointed, Michael and Danny stayed in the house as Dean and Sam followed Ash out to his motorcycle.

“Thanks for stopping by, man,” Dean said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t talk you into staying.”

“I’m not gonna hang around where I’m not wanted,” Ash declared as he put his helmet on. He gave Sam a pointed look. “I’ll just go back to the Roadhouse and work my mojo from there, where I won’t be underfoot.”

Dean groaned. “Ash. . . .”

“No, Sam’s right,” the other man relented. “I’d just be in the way here. I see that now.” His smile was a little wan, but was genuine. “You guys stay safe. I’ll keep working things from my end. Hang tough, Gordy can’t hide forever.”

Before either Winchester could comment, Ash started his bike and, after revving the engine a couple of times, took off down the drive. Sam breathed a big sigh of relief.

“What the hell was that all about?” Dean demanded after Ash was gone.

Sam tried to herd Dean inside. “I told you what it was about. Ash isn’t a hunter, not a physical one. He doesn’t have to be here to contribute to the search and we don’t need another body to protect.”

Dean slowly made his way back towards the house. “Yeah. Maybe. But did you have to be so cruel about it? That’s not like you, Sammy.”

”I was just being honest,” Sam shrugged. “I don’t exactly have time to be Mr. Sensitive right now, Dean. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got a few things to worry about.”

He put an arm under Dean’s elbow, helping his brother back up the porch stairs. He half expected Dean to shrug it off, but that didn’t happen. Sam didn’t know if he should be worried about that or not. Before they made it all the way inside, however, Dean stopped him.

“Look, Sammy, I know you’re taking all of this on yourself,” Dean stated earnestly. “But you don’t have to. It’s not all your responsibility. Even if you think I’m too sick to help out, there’s Dad and Bobby and, yeah, even Jo.”

“I know,” Sam admitted.

“Do you?” Dean questioned him. “Because I don’t know if you do. Sam. . . if you let Gordon Walker get to you, make you start acting like someone you’re not, he wins. And I don’t want to let that fucker win anything, do you?”

Sam sighed. “No.”

“Good,” Dean replied as he leaned in for a quick kiss. “Because I’d hate to think I was married to an asshole.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Sam cupped the back of Dean’s head and kept his brother close so they could press their foreheads together. “I’ll apologize to Ash later.”

Dean nodded. “I know you’re angry, but save it for Gordon, okay?”

Sam snorted and pulled away from Dean so he could open the door for him. “You know, that’s one more reason we’ve got to catch Gordon Walker.” When Dean cocked an eyebrow at him in question, he grinned. “Pent up in the house all day, you’ve been watching way too much Dr. Phil.”

Dean glared at him and went inside. Sam’s grin faded as soon as his brother’s back was turned. His head throbbed and he stole a moment to rub at his temples. He didn’t want Dean to see. His brother wasn’t at 100% and Sam didn’t want him knowing about the headaches. Dean already felt like crap; he didn’t need another thing to worry about.

Sam had to be strong, because Dean was mistaken. Not only was protecting the family and removing the threat of Gordon Walker Sam’s responsibility, but the whole situation was his fault too.

*  
*  
*

They didn’t like for the kids to be on the second floor of the house by themselves, so even though stairs weren’t Dean’s favorite thing in the world and Sam had a fit whenever he climbed them, he pulled himself up in order to spend time with the kids. Michael’s teacher had sent over some schoolwork, so Dean was supervising while Michael worked on the computer in his bedroom. Danny played quietly in his own room across the hall and Dean split his time between the two of them.

Even though Sam was the university professor, Dean liked to help Michael with his homework. He figured he better do it while he had a chance of being of assistance. Once the kids reached high school or maybe even junior high, Dean figured the material would probably be over his head. Book smarts were not his strong suit and Dean knew it. 

Michael was a bright kid and it didn’t take him long to finish his assignments. When he was done, Dean let Danny into his brother’s room so the three of them could play video games. After a little while, Dean became aware of someone hovering in the doorway and he looked up to find Jo watching them, that haunted look in her eyes again.

“All right, you heathens, I’m tired of getting beat up,” Dean announced to the kids. “You’ll just have to play each other for a few minutes.” He struggled to his feet and ruffled each boy’s hair. “Mikey, just remember that your brother’s four years younger than you.”

“Okay, DeeDee,” Michael responded with the tone of voice of one who’s been reminded of the same fact a lot and, in his opinion, needlessly. 

Dean grinned, glad that it was something as simple as not letting Danny get frustrated at video games that Michael was being nagged about. When Dean was his son’s age, his father was reminding him to shoot first and ask questions later, especially when it came to his younger brother’s safety.

By the time Dean made it into the hallway, Jo had almost reached the stairs. 

“Jo, hang on a minute,” Dean called out. He was still using the crutches and it took a moment to catch up to her. “Is there anything wrong?”

“No, everything’s fine,” she said, just a little too quickly. “Just making the rounds, you know.”

Jo’s eyes were suspiciously bright and Dean decided it was a good time to try and settle things between them. For days, they’d been dancing around each other, with the entire Winchester family plus Bobby playing chaperone. If they had to put up with the woman’s presence while she helped them, Dean figured the least he could do was try and make it tolerable.

“Can I ask you a question?” He stated, leaning against the wall. His leg was in better shape than his lung, but it still didn’t like holding his weight for long.

“Oookay,” she hesitated, but gave him the go ahead. Dean could tell from the way Jo crossed her arms across her chest, though, that she wasn’t entirely comfortable about talking to him. 

Good. That made two of them.

“Why me?” Dean asked. “A woman like you could have any guy you want. You’re a hunter, not a poacher. Why’d you make a play for me when it should have been clear that I was already taken?”

Her answering laugh was soft and bitter. “I tried the normal route and I didn’t fit in. It was impossible to focus on college and take classes seriously, when you know there’s a whole other world out there where people are in danger.”

Dean nodded. Sam had found the same thing, although he’d actually acclimated pretty well until Jessica died.

“Maybe you haven’t noticed, Dean, but there’s a not a big pool of available hunters and most of those don’t view women as an equal.” Jo continued. Her expression softened. “You understood that I needed to hunt and you didn’t look down on me because I was a girl. You have no idea how rare that is.” She touched the scar on her face as though involuntarily.

A funny thing happened. Dean didn’t particularly like Jo and there for a while she’d been a big thorn in his whole family’s side. Even so, Dean felt his protective hackles begin to rise.

“One of the rejects do that to you?” Dean asked, jerking his chin towards her scar.

Jo shook her head. “No, got this the mundane way. A spirit threw me into a wall.” They shared a smile as the absurdity of what they considered normal hit them.

“Why me?” Dean asked again, his comfort level with her rising. 

“Instead of Sam?” She asked. 

“If you were looking for equality, he’s Mr. Sensitive,” Dean stated.

“Well, maybe I wanted a guy who had just a little Neanderthal in him.” Jo’s smile broadened into a grin. “Besides, his taste in music sucks.”

Dean knew that it was unlikely that he and Jo could become friends, but he began to hope that at least they wouldn’t be adversaries anymore.

“Everything all right here?”

Dean and Jo both turned at Liddy’s voice, but it was Jo who answered.

“No, everything’s fine. Just fine,” she slid past Liddy and headed downstairs. “I’ll better check out the lower level of the house.”

After Jo beat a hasty retreat, Liddy looked at Dean. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Dean assured her. He noticed that his stepmother was holding a laundry basket. “Hey, give me that. You aren’t our washer woman.”

She balanced the basket on one hip and swatted Dean’s hand as he moved to take it from her. “None of that. You know you aren’t supposed to lift much of anything yet.”

Liddy gave him one last penetrating look and then relaxed when she realized that everything was okay. “Besides, I didn’t do the laundry or fold it. Sam did. I just offered to bring it up here when I realized that Jo was upstairs.” 

Dean followed Liddy as she walked down the hall and started putting clean towels into the linen closet. 

“You know, you never did tell us what you said to Jo that got her to back off,” Dean commented. 

Being respectful of women had been drilled into Dean and Sam from an early age. When Jo had been so aggressive in pursuing Dean after Danny was born, neither Winchester had gotten assertive enough with her to make it stop. Liddy had eventually stepped in and, even four years later, Jo was still visibly nervous around her.

Liddy smiled gently. “Sometimes we just need to see ourselves as others see us,” she stated. “I merely pointed out to her that her attentions were making you feel as though you were being disloyal to Sam, even though you’d done nothing wrong, and that Sam was made to feel unattractive. I explained to Jo that if she really had any feelings for you that she would leave you alone, because she was only hurting two very good men and making herself look like the worst sort of home wrecker.”

Dean blushed at her obvious protectiveness. He knew that, had his father met Liddy before his sons had been born, that he would have had a hard time with the concept of having a stepmother. Becoming a parent himself, though, had opened Dean’s mind a bit on that front. He adored Liddy and supported his dad’s relationship with her 100%. Even so, Dean had never brought himself to call her ‘Mom.’ And because Dean didn’t, Sam didn’t either, even though he had no memories of Mary Winchester to make him feel disloyal about it. No doubt picking up on their fathers’ hesitation, the boys had never called her ‘Grandma’ and sometimes Dean felt bad about that. Not that Liddy was quite old enough to be Dean’s mother and maybe being called Grandma would make her feel older than her years, but she’d earned it.

“I always wanted a family of my own,” Liddy obviously had seen Dean’s blush. “But my first husband and I were never blessed with any children and, in the end, that was for the best.” Her first husband had been an abusive jerk who’d tormented Liddy as a spirit even after he died. “Then you and Sam came into my life and brought Michael with you and eventually your father and Danny. . . all of a sudden, I’m rich with family.” Her expression hardened. “And I wasn’t about to let anyone mess with that.”

Dean grimaced. “So all you did was to tell Jo that she was making a fool of herself and it stopped?” If only they’d known it was that simple, he and Sam could have dealt with it a lot sooner and saved themselves some grief.

Liddy finished putting the towels away and stowed the basket in the closet. Turning to Dean, she said, “Well, that and I brought my knitting needles with me. I showed her how sharp they were and explained that, if applied to the appropriate part of the female body, a woman would be unable to enjoy the sexual attentions of any man, even one as desirable as you.” Her grin took on a hard edge. “I think she got the point.”

Dean gulped.

Liddy patted him gently on the face and moved to go downstairs. Before she did, though, she stopped and looked back at Dean. “That reminds me, did you take all of your pills?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, suddenly very glad that he had.

“Good,” she commented with a grin and then went downstairs.

Dean swallowed; you always had to watch the quiet ones. When he’d first met Liddy, he’d wondered at how unflappable she’d been about all sorts of paranormal events. After seeing her command an entire room of infants, toddlers and preschoolers, though, he’d come to realize that the dealing with the paranormal was nothing compared to running a daycare.

And, Dean thought, maybe they’d been wrong to count Liddy as a non-combatant. He, for one, was certainly glad she was on their side.

~to be continued in Hunter part 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted March 2, 2007


	43. Hunter - part 7

Sam made sure that he was always partnered with Jo during guard duty or field work. It wasn’t that he was worried about her working with Gordon; Missouri’s reassurances totally belayed that suspicion. It was just that he wanted his eyes on the woman whenever she was around his family. Something had eased between Dean and Jo in the last day, but it wasn’t enough for Sam’s peace of mind.

Unfortunately, as their leads failed one by one, field work became less and less necessary. Sam sat at the kitchen table, going over their notes for the umpteenth time when he felt a tug on his sleeve. Looking down, he saw Danny standing next to him, holding a toy car.

“Hey, buddy, what’s the matter?” Sam asked.

Danny held up the toy for Sam’s inspection and Sam could see that the back wheels were off again. The toy was a favorite of his son’s and it saw a lot of hard wear and tear. Normally, Dean could fix it, but it was fairly early in the morning yet and Dean was still sleeping. Sam had admonished the entire family to be quiet, so that the injured man could get some much-needed rest. The fever that had been Dean’s constant companion had finally dwindled and Sam was determined that it not come back.

“I’m sorry, Danny, I don’t know how to fix it,” Sam admitted to the little boy. Sam was about as good at working on toy cars as he was the real kind. In other words, not good at all. “I’m sure that DeeDee will when he gets up, you just have to be patient.”

Danny sighed, but didn’t fuss. He did, however, tug some more on Sam’s shirt, trying to get his father to follow him.

“I don’t have time to play right now,” Sam gently disengaged his shirt from Danny’s grip. “I’ve got important work to do. Maybe later.”

It was as Danny trudged away that Sam realized what he’d done. He’d sounded just like his father, insisting that hunting was more important that things like spending time with his sons.

“Damn,” Sam swore softly under his breath. He’d promised himself that he’d never do anything like that.

Just as Sam was getting up to go after his son, his cell phone rang. He grabbed it immediately and, seeing it was Ash, eagerly answered. His guilt trip paled over potential news of Gordon Walker. “This is Sam.”

“Sam, it’s your ol’ buddy, Ash.”

The other man sounded a bit odd, like his cheer was forced, but Sam figured that was because of what had happened when Ash had shown up at their door. He still felt he’d done the right thing in sending Ash away, but also conceded that Dean had a point. Sam had been a little too hard on the other man.

“Look, Ash, about before, I’m sorry,” Sam apologized awkwardly. “I was a little. . . harsh.”

“Don’t worry about it, Sam-my-man,” Ash blithely assured him. “Look, I’ve got a lead on your guy, Gordon. That is, if you’re still interested.”

“You know I am,” Sam grabbed a pen and a notebook. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“His last year in the joint, Gordon had a cellmate by the name of Cyrus Peabody. Took the kid under his wing and Cyrus’ brother, who was in the same prison, was grateful,” Ash explained. “Even though Gordon had stayed away from gangs, the three of them were tight in the months before Gordon made parole.”

“Do you know where they are now?” Sam asked eagerly. It was more of a lead than they’d had since starting to hunt Gordon Walker.

“Cyrus and Bill Peabody’s dad owns a scrap yard in Fairmont,” Ash told him. “They got out a couple of weeks before he did. This guard I found thought he heard them making plans to meet up when they were all outside. He thought it was weird ‘cause Gordon had been such a loner.”

“Sounds promising, Ash, you’re amazing.” Sam congratulated him. “You got an address on them?”

Ash did and Sam wrote it down. 

“The Peabody boys did time for assault with intent to do bodily harm,” Ash mentioned. “You guys be careful.”

“We will, Ash,” Sam assured him. “And thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Really, man.” Ash replied and disconnected before Sam could say anything more.

Within minutes of talking to Ash, the hunters were assembled in the kitchen. Dean still looked rumpled and sleepy, but Sam had handed him a mug of coffee as soon as he’d limped his way to the kitchen table. Dean was visibly waking even as Sam watched. Liddy had the children busy upstairs; everyone wanted those three kept innocent of their plans.

“What do you have, Sam?” John asked gruffly.

Speaking quickly and efficiently, Sam summed up what Ash had told him. “Fairmont’s an hour’s drive from here,” he concluded. “It’s early enough that we can go down there and be back yet today.”

Unspoken was his obvious hope that they could put an end to the hunt.

“We can’t leave the house unprotected,” John pointed out. “Liddy, Dean and the kids will need some back-up.”

“Liddy and the boys, yeah,” Dean stated. “But I’m going.”

Sam and John exchanged a look, but it was John who spoke up. No doubt he was hoping that a parental opinion would sway his oldest. He really should have known better.

“Dean, you’re in no shape - . . . .” John started to say.

“I’m going,” Dean repeated stubbornly. “That fucker tried to kill my kids right in front of my eyes. Don’t you even try to tell me not to go.”

Sam closed his eyes for a moment to gather his resolve. There was no one he’d rather have at his side for this particular hunt than his brother, but not when Dean was still injured.

“Dean, get up,” Sam ordered in a quiet voice. 

Dean gave him a suspicious look, but did as Sam asked. The glare he shot around the room challenged the others against mentioning that it had taken a bit of a struggle for him to get to his feet.

Sam nodded. “Now touch your toes.”

“What?” Dean protested. “Sam, what the hell is this all about?”

“Never mind that, just do it,” Sam stated, crossing his arms over his chest.

Dean rolled his eyes, but nevertheless did as his brother asked. Or, he tried to. Dean got partway down and started wheezing. One hand flailed as he tried to reach the table to leverage himself back up, but Sam was there first. Moving quickly, he supported Dean under his arm and got his sibling back in his chair.

“And that’s why you’re not going,” Sam squatted so he could look Dean in the eye. Heedless of the others in the room, he put a hand on each of Dean’s knees. “You can’t be out in the field if there’s a chance you’d be a liability.” 

“I won’t slow you down.” Oddly enough, Dean’s voice sounded like he was pleading.

“Maybe not,” Sam shook his head, “but what kind of damage would you do to yourself trying?” He smiled wanly. “Besides, even hurt, there’s no one I trust more to protect Michael and Danny.”

Dean snorted. “Like I did a bang up job the first time.”

Sam shook his head. “We’ll have to disagree on that point. All of you survived and that’s what matters.”

Bobby cleared his throat. “So Dean’s not going. Who is?”

“Dad is,” Dean jumped in before Sam could say anything. “I want him watching your back, Sammy.”

Clearly, if he couldn’t be there, Dean saw their father as the next best thing. Trouble was, Sam felt the same way and would rather have his dad stay behind and help guard the rest of the family. He couldn’t gainsay Dean, though, not when he’d been so brutal in how he’d showed Dean why he couldn’t go on the hunt.

“All right,” Sam sighed, giving in without voicing an objection. “Dad, are you okay with that?”

John nodded. “Yeah.”

Sam looked from Bobby to Jo, the only hunter who hadn’t voiced an opinion yet. It was obvious that the others considered Sam to be the leader of the operation, something that was a little disconcerting. Then again, Sam didn’t really want anyone other than him or Dean making decisions that so intimately impacted their family.

It was tempting to take Jo with them and leave Bobby behind to help watch out for the non-combatants. Bobby was a solid hunter and it would offer some peace of mind to have him stay back with Dean. Unfortunately, there were the dogs to consider. Sam wanted the bloodhound with them on the hunt and Bobby was the only one that knew how to handle the animal.

“Bobby, you and Fred are coming with us.” Sam’s smile was feral. “If we do find Gordon in Fairmont, then I don’t want him slinking away again.”

“You got it,” Bobby’s face was expressionless, but from the glint in his eye, Sam could tell that he was pleased to be included.

Dean looked at Jo. “I guess that leaves you with the children and women-folk.”

To Sam’s surprise, Jo smiled. 

“Well, at least you didn’t say ‘children and ladies,’” Jo quipped. “Because Liddy might be a lady, but I’ve seen your manners and they need a little work, princess.”

Sam would have liked to reconsider his decision to leave Jo with his brother, but there wasn’t any other way. He’d just have to ask Liddy to keep an extra special eye on the other woman.

“All right, let’s get ready,” Sam instructed the other hunters. “I want to be on the road within thirty minutes.”

Leaving was a lot harder than Sam thought it would be. The boys had gotten used to the adults coming and going over the last few days, but somehow they picked up on the vibe that something was different about this trip. Sam had one little boy hanging on each hand as he tried to make his way to the front door.

“We should be back tonight,” Sam tried to reassure them. “And DeeDee will be here and Liddy too.”

“Will she be here too?” Michael asked, throwing Jo a suspicious look through the window.

“Yeah,” Sam admitted. At Michael’s mulish look, Sam gave in to that small, petty part of himself that he usually kept under lock and key. “Keep an eye on her for me, okay?”

Michael straightened, a determined expression on his face. “Okay.”

Sam almost felt sorry for Jo. Almost.

“Hey, you two,” he said, stopping just shy of the door. “You’ve got to be very, very good for DeeDee, Liddy and Miss Jo. You do everything they tell you to, okay?”

“Even Miss Jo?” Michael asked in disbelief.

“Even her,” Sam confirmed. He immediately regretted his earlier pettiness. His children’s safety depended on Jo and he shouldn’t have let his dislike of the woman interfere with that.

Kneeling, Sam gathered both of his sons close. “Look, guys, this is really important. Miss Jo is here to help protect you and DeeDee from the bad man, so even though I asked you to watch her around DeeDee, she’s here to help us.”

“And maybe she’ll watch out for DeeDee more ‘cause she likes him so much?” Michael’s face screwed up as he tried to reason through what Sam was telling him.

“Yeah,” Sam nodded. “So promise me that you’ll be good for her too and do what she tells you.”

“Okay,” Michael agreed reluctantly. “I promise.” 

Danny nodded, although Sam had a feeling that the conversation had completely gone over the four year-old’s head. 

With one last hug for each of them, Sam took a deep breath and left the house. The boys didn’t follow, since they were still nervous about the dogs. Liddy stayed inside with them, but Dean was already out by the truck. Walking out the door was the hardest part. Once Sam got outside and saw his brother, he jogged down the stairs and made his way across the yard eagerly.

“You got everything you need?” Dean asked, balancing on his crutches.

“Yeah,” Sam felt oddly shy. He and Dean had hunted separately before, but never when the odds were so high. “You should probably keep the boys under a close watch, just in case.”

“We’ll take care of it,” Dean reassured his brother. “It’s not like, with the dogs, that Michael or Danny are gonna wander outside. Besides, we’ve still got the police dropping by several times a day. We’ll be fine.”

“Good, good,” Sam responded. “Bobby’s got a breeder all picked out.”

They’d decided early on when the field research started that they would need an excuse for why John and Sam would be willing to leave their family while the attacker was still at large. Bobby had come up with a plausible reason, although they hoped not to need it. He suggested that they claim to be looking for dogs to replace Xena and Joxer. There were breeders or animal shelters in about every town, so it worked out all right.

“What kind?” Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. “I think he said Pomeranian.”

“Nobody’d believe that. There’s no way I’d let one of those yippy little things into the house,” Dean protested. “They look like a walking dust mop.”

“I dunno, they’re kind of cute,” Sam couldn’t help but tease. “Besides, they’re small, so the boys wouldn’t be as frightened of them.”

”Sam, this is just all kinds of wrong.” Dean’s eyes were serious and Sam knew his brother wasn’t talking about dogs.

“I know you want to be there, Dean, but that’s just not going to happen,” Sam responded. “And we can’t afford to wait. This is the only solid lead we’ve had all week.”

Dean shook his head. “You’re leaving to go kill someone, Sam. Forgive me if I have a little bit of a problem with that.”

“It has to be done,” Sam countered. Although he didn’t say it out loud, Sam found he was glad that the task had fallen to him.

“But it should be me,” Dean objected. “You don’t kill, Sam. You never have. Not humans like Gordon.”

Sam frowned. “Michael and Danny are my kids too, Dean. I have every much right to want to protect them as you do.” He gestured at Dean’s crutches. “Besides, Gordon hurt my husband. You can’t tell me, if our positions were reversed, that you wouldn’t be out for his blood.”

“Yeah, but that’s my point,” Dean replied. “That works for me, but it’s not you, Sam.” He struggled for words. “It’s like. . . it’s like the tooth fairy grabbed an Uzi and started mowing down dentists or something.”

“The tooth fairy?” Sam’s smile was a little brittle. “It’s good to know how you really see me.”

Dean glared. “You know what I mean, Sammy. Words have always been what you’re good at. Protecting you, protecting the family, that’s what I’ve always been good at.”

Sam couldn’t help but soften at Dean’s painful admission. He reached up and cupped his brother’s face. “Not this time, Dean. It’s my turn to get my hands dirty.”

The sound of boots crunching against gravel came from behind them. Sam didn’t drop his hands, instead leaning forward to kiss Dean tenderly.

“You ready to go, Sam?” Bobby either didn’t notice or had decided to ignore the brothers’ closeness.

“Yeah.” Sam dropped his hands with a last smile for Dean. 

“John, let’s go,” Bobby called up to the house. 

Sam turned to his see his father finishing saying goodbye to Liddy. Without a backward glance, John walked to the truck, where Sam and Bobby were already waiting. Bobby whistled Fred over and opened the back of the topper. The bloodhound hopped in, while the other dogs milled around. The truck had an extended cab and John climbed into the back. Sam slowly walked around and got into the passenger side, managing a half wave for his brother before the truck pulled off. He kept an eye on the side mirror and could see Dean standing forlornly watching them until they left the house behind.

The drive to Fairmont was filled with a quiet tenseness. The first few minutes were filled with strategizing, but everything had already been hashed out, so there wasn’t much to say. As they continued to travel, each man became lost in his own thoughts. Agreeing that Gordon Walker needed to die and setting off on a trip that might actually culminate in killing him were two very different things.

Finally, they reached their destination. They stopped for gas and directions, but Fairmont was a fairly small town. They didn’t have any problem finding someone who knew where the Peabody’s scrap yard was, although no one recalled seeing anybody matching Gordon Walker’s description. Bobby navigated the streets of the town like he owned them, finally pulling off at a deserted rail yard that was near their target. All of them except Fred piled out of the truck.

“You sure this thing will work?” Bobby asked skeptically as Sam held up the piece of equipment that he was to use.

“There’s a reason that Dean became an electrician,” Sam defended his brother. “He’s really good at this stuff. He once made an EMF reader out of busted walkman.”

“It works better than it looks,” John added. “Trust us.”

“I do or I wouldn’t be here,” Bobby replied.

Dean was constantly tinkering with things and had rigged a crude listening device. It was bulky, but then so was Bobby’s coat and they managed to hide it sufficiently. Ash’s information indicated that the Peaboy brothers weren’t the brightest specimens around, so no one was truly concerned about it being discovered. Once Bobby had it on and they verified that it was indeed functional, they got back into the truck and completed the journey to the scrap yard.

As Bobby pulled in, all three of them noted that the parking lot was empty.

“Nice homey place, isn’t it?” Bobby stated to no one in particular. He took a deep breath. “Well, no sense in delaying this.”

John and Sam both flicked the safety off their guns and Sam made a last check that the listening device was working.

“We’ll be right here,” John assured him. “Holler if you need us.”

Bobby nodded solemnly and got out of the truck. With studied nonchalance, he walked to the small building that obviously served as the scrap yard’s office.

Sam would have preferred to be the one going in, but it just wasn’t practical. Eventually the police would figure out Gordon Walker’s identity and be able to track down his known associates. When that happened, the Winchesters couldn’t be identified as having been there first. They’d toyed with the idea of Bobby dropping Sam and John off and them taking positions in the wooded scrub that surrounded the scrap yard, but eventually decided against it. If Gordon was inside, then Bobby would need help quickly. The truck’s windows were tinted and it would be difficult for an observer to detect that anyone was inside. At least, that was their hope.

Knowing something was necessary and liking it, though, were two different things.

Bobby’s voice, when it came through the listening device, was distorted, but easily recognizable. “Hey, anybody home?”

The response was softer, since the speaker wasn’t right next to Bobby. “Be right there, Mister.” There was a few moments of static-filled silence and then the unknown voice came again. “What can I do for you?”

“I need to talk to Cyrus or Bill Peabody,” Bobby said bluntly. “Are you one of them?”

”Yup, I’m Cyrus. What can I do you for?”

Sam and John exchanged a puzzled look. Cyrus Peabody sounded far too open and innocent to be the accomplice of a would-be child killer.

“I’m looking for a friend of mine,” Bobby’s voice drawled. “A guy by the name of Gordon Walker.”

“Cy, who are you talking to?” Someone else called out, preventing Cyrus from answering. This voice sounded older and more suspicious.

“Some guy,” Cyrus replied. “Said he was looking for Gordon.”

There was a clattering sound and both Winchesters tensed until they heard Bobby’s voice again.

“You must be Bill Peabody,” Bobby said.

The other Peabody didn’t seem as friendly as his brother. “Look, I don’t know who you are, but we don’t want any trouble.”

“I’m not bringing any,” Bobby replied. “I’m just looking for Gordon Walker is all. I heard you were tight with him.”

Bill Peabody’s snort was audible even through the listening device. “Well, you heard wrong.”

“Aw, Billy. Gordon wasn’t so bad.”

“Cy, go finish chopping up that Buick,” Bill Gordon ordered his brother.

“Billy. . . .”

“Go.” There was a silence, which Sam assumed was the younger Peabody brother leaving as ordered. After a few moments, though, Bill Peabody addressed Bobby again. “Look, I don’t know who you are and I don’t really care. I don’t have a problem with Gordon Walker and I don’t want one, either.”

”But you know him,” Bobby pressed.

“Yeah, I know him.” Bill Peabody admitted. “He was Cy’s cellmate, but that doesn’t mean that they were friends. He left Cy alone, if you know what I mean, and I’m grateful for that, but neither one of us have seen him since we got out of that hellhole in Indiana. I don’t know who told you we were friends, but the truth be told, I was scared of him. Some guys in prison are just trying to survive and some are just plain mean. Walker, all you had to do was look in his eyes and know he was crazy.”

Even sitting outside in the truck, listening through a cobbled device, the Winchesters didn’t doubt Bill Peabody’s sincerity. The man sounded frightened, but not in an immediate way. 

“Well, sorry to have troubled you then,” Bobby apparently felt the same way and didn’t press the man any further. “But if he does come around, I’d appreciate you not letting on that anybody was looking for him.”

“Mister, if you think I’m lying to that mo-fo, then you’re crazier than Gordon Walker is,” Bill Peabody stated frankly. “I don’t know who you are and I’m not lying for you. The best you can hope for is that he doesn’t show up and ask. Now, I’ll thank you to leave.” 

“Have a nice day,” Bobby told him, heavy on the sarcasm.

Sam and his father watched as Bobby left the office and sauntered back to the truck. They didn’t say anything until the other hunter was once again seated behind the wheel.

“I believe him,” Bobby stated, before either Winchester could say anything.

“Me too,” Sam sighed. “But it isn’t like Ash to be so wrong.”

“Maybe the prison guard was playing him,” John suggested. “Maybe it’s the guard who’s working with Walker.”

That was a scary thought. Sam reached for his cell phone. “Let’s ask him.” But Ash’s phone went immediately into voicemail. “That’s not good.”

“Try the Roadhouse,” John suggested curtly. 

Without being asked, Bobby started the truck and headed out. Sam dialed again and was relieved to get an answer this time.

“Harvelle’s,” Ellen’s voice came through loud and clear.

“Ellen, it’s Sam.”

“Sam, it’s good to hear from you. Is that daughter of mine behaving herself?” Ellen had not been happy to hear that Jo had joined them, but had been convinced not to come and play chaperone. Their need for her at the Roadhouse remained the same.

“Yeah, she’s fine,” Sam hadn’t called to talk about Jo. “I really need to talk to Ash. Is he around?”

There was a pause. “Honey, I thought he was in Minnesota with you.”

“He came by a couple of days ago, but didn’t stay,” Sam didn’t elaborate. “Ash told us he was heading back to the Roadhouse and, when he called this morning, that was where I assumed he was.” He took a deep breath, his stomach plummeting. “Ellen, the information he gave us on Gordon Walker’s known prison associates was wrong. He didn’t answer his cell phone either.”

“Something’s not right,” Ellen’s voice was grim. “I’ll be on the next flight out.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Sam stated. He glanced over at his father to see that John already had his own phone out and was shaking his head at him. “Try and reach Jo on her cell phone. If she picks up, tell her to lock the house down and be loaded for bear. I think we were sent on a wild goose chase.”

“Dear God,” Ellen sounded shocked. “Sam, how far away are you?”

“Too far,” Sam replied curtly, abruptly hanging up. The call was barely disconnected before he’d hit the programmed number for the house. He winced when he got the signal that the line was disconnected. “Son of a bitch.”

“Liddy’s cell phone isn’t in service,” John sad tersely. “Neither is Dean’s.”

Sam felt the truck shudder as Bobby floored the accelerator. Thinking fast, Sam dialed a newly stored number in his phone, breathing a sigh of relief when a call finally got through.

“St. Peter Police,” a woman’s calm voice answered. “Is this an emergency?”

”I’m not sure,” Sam replied. “Is Officer Cummins available?”

”I’m sorry, sir, no.” She answered. “A train derailed just east of town and most of our officers are on the scene. Can anyone else be of assistance?”

”My name is Sam Winchester,” Sam heard his father echoing his words and realized that his dad had called the county sheriff while he’d tried the police. “Officer Cummins is coordinating the protection of my family after the attack last week and I’m concerned that I can’t raise anyone at the house by telephone.”

“Yes, Mr. Winchester, we’re aware of your situation,” the woman replied. St. Peter wasn’t a big town and no doubt there weren’t a lot of families receiving police protection. “I wouldn’t be too concerned. The train took out a cell phone tower. I think half the town is out of telephone service.”

“Still, it’s going to be at least forty-five minutes before I can make it home,” Sam pleaded. “Could you send someone out to check?”

The police representative sounded sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Mr. Winchester, but the train wreck is a large emergency and we don’t have any personnel to spare. Unless we have confirmed knowledge of a problem at your house, we can’t send any officers. We’ll have someone out there just as soon as we can.”

As much as Sam pleaded, she wouldn’t budge. From the frustrated look on John’s face, he got much the same answer from the county offices.

“Damn,” Sam pounded the dashboard in frustration as soon as he’d given up with the police department. “Bobby, can you make this thing go any faster?”

“I’m already pushing it,” Bobby assured him. “Going off the road or flipping the truck isn’t going to get us there any faster.” He glanced briefly at Sam before returning his eyes to the road. “Is there anyone else you can call to go check on them? You said that Gordon didn’t want to hurt humans.”

Sam thought about it. Raphael and some of the other construction guys that Dean worked with were a pretty tough lot, but they were no match for a ruthless hunter like Gordon Walker. It wasn’t really fair to ask one of them to walk into a potentially life and death situation. Still, Sam thought of his sons’ faces and was looking up phone numbers before he was consciously aware of doing so.

It didn’t do any good.

The woman at the police station had been right. Sam couldn’t get through to anyone in St. Peter. All he had programmed into his phone were cell phone numbers and none of them worked. By the time he thought of calling 4-1-1 to get their home numbers, it was too late and they were close enough to St. Peter that their own cell phones were dead. Sam and the others were effectively cut off from Dean and the family, with no way of warning them what might be coming. 

A touch on his arm brought Sam’s attention to his father. “Your brother’s a damn fine hunter, son. Gordon Walker won’t find it easy to catch him unaware. And, I hate to admit it, but Jo Harvelle’s no slouch either. Between the two of them, they’ll keep the boys safe.”

“I hope so, Dad,” Sam replied. “I really do.”

Sam kept his eyes fastened on the horizon, where he could see storm clouds brewing. He only hoped that they could make it home before the storm broke, both literally and figuratively.

~to be continued in Hunter Chapter 8~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted March 3, 2007


	44. Hunter - part 8

There was a reason that people in Minnesota tended to watch the weather reports a lot. The weather, particularly in transitional seasons like spring and fall, could be chancy. A couple of days earlier, Sam had admonished Dean about not wearing a coat in the crisp autumn air, but the temperature had ramped up since then, topping 80 degrees. The change wasn’t all for the good, a thunderstorm was building as the temperature zones wrangled with one another. It hadn’t hit yet, but it was in the air, just waiting to pounce.

Dean frowned as he looked up at the sky. Restless, he’d been prowling the lower level of the house, practicing walking without the crutches. Sam wouldn’t like it, but then Sam wasn’t there. Actually, that was part of Dean’s problem. He knew why he couldn’t go with the others, but it sat wrong on him to have to stay behind. He left his crutches propped up against the wall outside the kitchen, ready for a quick grab for when Sam got back.

He heard barking outside and then the sound of an engine. Awkwardly, Dean made his way to the door, pulling out the gun he’d kept tucked down the back of his pants as he pulled aside the sidelight curtain enough to get a glimpse at who had arrived.

It was a squad car and Dean breathed a sigh of relief when he recognized Tim Patterson, a young officer that was one of several that stopped by throughout the day to check on them. There was a table next to the door with a drawer in it and Dean stowed his gun before he went outside.

“Hey there, Tim,” Dean drawled a greeting. He hung onto the porch railings in lieu of crutches. By this time, the Winchesters were on a first name basis with most of the officers. “How’s it hanging?”

“Hey yourself, Dean.” The young officer waited until Dean waved the dogs off before he ventured out of the car. “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news; I’m here to tell you that you’re pretty much going to be on your own today. There was a big train derailment just outside of town. I’m on my way there myself. It’s got all the law enforcement in the area tied up and the chief thought you should know that.”

Dean straightened. This was not good news. Not that he thought even Gordon Walker capable of derailing a train simply as a distraction, but Gordon was canny enough to take advantage of it. If, that was, he was still in the area and heard of it. Personally, Dean wouldn’t rule that out, despite the lead the others were checking out.

“Thanks for the warning,” Dean blew out an explosive sigh. “And this would be the time that Sam and his father are away for the day.”

”They are?” Tim looked around, as if noticing the other men’s absence for the first time. “You and the kids aren’t here alone, are you?”

”No, they’re not,” Jo’s voice came from behind Dean as she swaggered into sight. 

Dean hid a smile at Tim’s reaction. The officer had been sweet on Jo the moment he saw her and Dean had a feeling that he deliberately pulled Winchester duty more than any other cop because of it. It was far too soon and their tentative friendship far too fragile for Dean to poke at Jo about it, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the show.

Tim swallowed heavily before responding. “I also wanted to warn you that most people’s cell phones will be down.” He looked at them sheepishly. “The train took out a whole bank of cell phone towers. Land lines work fine, though.”

It took a lot of willpower not to curse. Sam had promised to check in by cell phone when they had any news. It was far too early for there to have been any, but what Tim just told them meant that Dean was cut off from his brother until Sam returned. That was not a feeling that Dean enjoyed.

“Look, I got to run,” Tim shrugged. “I’m on my way to the crash site now. I tell you what, your place isn’t too far off the beaten path. When squads start making the trip back to town, I’ll ask ‘em to stop in and check on you.”

“Thanks, Tim, we appreciate it,” Dean replied, letting relief color his voice.

“Anytime,” Tim walked back to his car, stopping to address Jo directly. “It’s good to see you again Miss Harvelle.”

“Same to you,” Jo responded coolly, but Dean could see her blushing.

They watched the police car pull off, but Dean was no longer inclined to tease Jo. “This is not good,” he said.

“No shit,” she answered curtly. “I’m going to do a perimeter check.”

“Good,” Dean nodded, but Jo didn’t see. She was already trotting towards the property line.

Dean limped his way inside and to the bottom of the steps. “Hey Liddy,” Dean called up the stairs. His stepmother was supervising the boys’ play. 

“Is everything okay?” Liddy asked as she stuck her head over the landing.

“It’s fine, but I think you, Michael and Danny should come down here for a while,” Dean suggested. He hedged a little bit about the reason why, not wanting to frighten them when there was likely no need to be worried. “A storm’s coming and it might be a bad one.”

“All right,” she agreed. “We’ll be down in a moment.”

Dean waited at the bottom of the stairs until he could hear his boys respond to Liddy’s instructions. Then, restless, he continued his pacing. A quick look outside showed that everything was still, but he didn’t relax. Jo was soon back in the house, everything being all right on the grounds. She ended up doing the same pacing and, as their paths crossed, they nodded at one another solemnly, but didn’t speak.

After an hour, the storm was closer to breaking, but the tension wasn’t. 

“Dean, don’t you think it’s time for you to get off your feet?” Liddy gently suggested. Dean’s pacing hadn’t stopped, but instead of getting better at it, his movement without the crutches was becoming sloppier as he tired.

“I’m fine, Lids,” he replied, distracted. 

Dean was looking out the window as the rain started to fall, wondering if he dared risk bringing the dogs inside. There wasn’t a lot of shelter for them from the storm, but the boys still didn’t want to be anywhere near them. He reminded himself that they were dogs and hadn’t seemed to mind being outside. In fact, Dean smiled as he noticed Velma, the Borzoi, stretched out asleep under a tree at the edge of the yard. She didn’t so much as twitch as it began to rain harder.

She didn’t so much as twitch.

“Ah, hell,” Dean murmured. His eyes started scanning the tree line and he winced when a sudden flash of lightning illuminated the yard. There, standing and watching the house, was Gordon Walker.

“Liddy, get the boys and go to the basement shelter,” Dean called out, not taking his eyes off the area where he’d seen Gordon. “Code red.” He raised his voice. “Jo, we got a bogie, three o’clock!”

Lightning flashed again while Liddy herded the boys downstairs. When it faded, Gordon Walker was gone. Jo clattered down the stairs from the upper floor, gun drawn. She reached for the telephone that sat on a nearby table. Dean could tell from the look on her face that it was dead.

“Damn, I lost him” Dean cursed. He followed Liddy and the kids downstairs. “I’ll make sure these guys are locked down and I’ll be right back.”

Dean ignored the pain in his leg as he ran down the stairs that led to the basement. Liddy had gotten the boys to the shelter door and was ushering them inside. 

“DeeDee, what’s wrong?” Michael sounded very young and frightened.

“Everything’s going to be okay, buddy,” he tried to reassure his son. “You’re going to stay in here with Liddy and I’m gonna help Miss Jo.”

The widening of Liddy’s eyes warned him, but not in enough time. Dean felt a delicate hand in the middle of his back and then he was shoved inside. He fell heavily to his knees.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Jo apologized as she shut the door behind him. The rest of her statement was muffled, but the snick as the lock engaged was clear as a bell. “You’re in no shape to take on Gordon Walker and your kids would hate me even more if something happened to you.”

“Jo!” Dean yelled as he struggled to his feet. He only managed to rise because Liddy hurried forward and helped him. “Jo, don’t you do this!”

There was no answer.

“DeeDee?”

Dean took a deep breath and plastered a false smile on his face as he turned to his sons. Michael stood with Danny pressed close to his side, both boys’ eyes wide with fear.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t build a safety shelter that I can’t bust out of,” Dean assured them. 

He grabbed a screwdriver that had been left in the room when they built it and quickly set to jimmying the lock. Off in the distance, Dean heard a couple of soft pops and tried to work faster. It only took a few moments, since the room hadn’t been built to keep people inside. Once he’d opened the door, he pocketed the screwdriver.

Dean glanced around the room, quickly spotting the shotgun in the corner. He knew Liddy knew how to use it; she was John Winchester’s wife and had been taught how to shoot. But it was a large weapon and intimidating. Dean was worried that Liddy would hesitate if she needed to use it and that might prove fatal.

“Here, take this,” Dean told her, pressing his gun into her hand. She went a shade paler, but took it. Dean was pleased to note that she immediately flicked the safety off. “Shoot anything that comes through that door without the password.” He looked at the boys. “What’s the password?”

“Strawberry Poptarts,” Michael whispered.

“Good boy,” Dean ruffled both children’s hair. He desperately wanted to hug them, but it was taking far too long already for him to enter the fight. “I’ll be right back.”

Dean was tempted to take the shotgun with him, but in the end left it. With his injuries, it was doubtful he could use it and, besides, it was loaded with rock salt. The stuff wouldn’t kill Gordon anyway, although it might slow him down a little. Another gunshot came from upstairs, sounding louder than a popping noise now that he wasn’t locked in.

Going up the stairs was harder than going down, particularly with his bum leg, but Dean persevered. When he got to the top of the steps, he listened carefully, but couldn’t hear anything. Opening the door, he slid out and plastered himself to the wall. A crash came from the kitchen and he made his way in that direction as fast as he could. Dean found his crutches still leaning against the doorway right outside and grabbed one. It felt good to have some sort of weapon in his hand, although he would have preferred his gun.

A woman’s cry came from the other room and Dean pushed himself through the door. He was just in time to see Jo slide off Gordon Walker’s knife. As Dean watched, horrified, she fell to the floor to sprawl in an ever-widening pool of blood.

“You son of a bitch,” Dean growled. “I’ll make you pay for that.”

“Dean Winchester,” Gordon greeted him, straightening. Absently, he wiped his knife on his pants leg. “You continue to be a thorn in my side.”

“She never did anything to you,” Dean claimed.

“She got between me and my prey,” Gordon countered. He walked slowly towards Dean, who didn’t budge. “She provided aid to the enemy, just like that little peon, Ash, did.”

It had occurred to Dean as he was picking the lock to get out of the shelter, that his security system hadn’t worked. Gordon Walker never should have been able to bypass the motion detectors or get inside without the alarm going off. Now he knew why; Ash had probably be coerced into giving him the codes.

“Ash too?” Dean choked out. 

Gordon continued to circle Dean, but Dean still didn’t move. It was imperative that he stay between Gordon and the door that led to his family. Dean knew the kitchen better than his foe did, however, and knew that the block that held the knives was right next to him on the counter. Not taking his eyes off Gordon, he blindly reached over and, feeling the wooden handles under his questing fingertips, grabbed the biggest one.

“It didn’t have to be this way, Dean,” Gordon stated gently as he continued to move forward. 

“Yeah, it did, Gordy,” Dean retorted, his fingers flexing around the knife. “You had to know what would happen if you came after my family.”

“Your loyalty does you proud,” Gordon complimented him. “Even if it’s misplaced. Sam’s evil has you under his thrall, but that will end once he and the children are destroyed.”

“Over my dead body,” Dean stated flatly.

Gordon looked regretful as he answered. “If it proves necessary, then yes.”

Dean was almost relieved when Gordon stopped talking and made his move. The other man kept his eyes on the knife, which was exactly what Dean had hoped he would do. As Gordon moved to bat it from Dean’s hand, Dean brought the crutch up with the other and got a solid blow in to Gordon’s head. The hunter crashed to the floor and Dean looked around wildly for the gun he knew that Jo had been carrying. He could see it on the other side of her, but when he moved to grab it, Gordon’s hand came up and grabbed Dean’s ankle. Ever since he’d been shot, Dean’s balance had been precarious under the best of circumstances and he went down. Gordon was on top of him in a flash, knocking the knife away from Dean’s other hand.

“I really do not want to kill you,” Gordon panted. “But maybe it would be a kindness.”

“Oh yeah,” Dean retorted. “You’re a regular Mr. Congeniality.” It was an obvious delaying tactic, but he’d take what he could get. Every minute that Gordon Walker was with him was another minute he wasn’t going after the children.

Gordon put a knife to his throat. “Or maybe I should just let you live, knowing that you failed to protect the people you love most in the world.”

While Gordon gloated, one of Dean’s hands was pushing against the knife at his throat. The other, however, was scrambling for the screwdriver in his pocket.

“Decisions, decisions, Gordy,” Dean quipped.

Before the other hunter could answer, Dean twisted his hips and threw the older man off of him. Dean ignored the pain from his gunshot wounds and brought the screwdriver down as hard as he could, impaling Gordon through the hand. 

Gordon screamed and pulled back, but his hand was effectively nailed to the floor. That wasn’t enough to stop a man like Gordon, though. As Dean scrambled across the kitchen floor, trying to get to Jo’s gun, Gordon groaned and pulled his injured hand up. He then pulled the screwdriver from his hand, the tool making a wet popping sound as it pulled free from his flesh.

“I changed my mind,” Gordon stated. “I think I’ll kill you anyway. Then I’ll go find your kids and blow their heads off.”

Before Dean could answer, they both heard it. A siren and coming closer. Gordon lost his smile almost immediately.

“By God, sometimes I wonder if you’re the one who made a deal with the devil, not your brother,” Gordon said in an almost conversational tone. “You have quite the luck.” He smiled suddenly, teeth flashing white. “You know what they say, third time’s the charm.”

Dean grabbed Jo’s gun just as the other man ran off. The glare of flashing lights could be seen coming up the drive, so Dean wasn’t too worried about Gordon doubling back for the children. He dropped the gun and crawled the rest of the way to Jo. In his struggle for the gun, he’d heard the woman moan and knew she was still alive.

“Jo?” He called to her as he dropped heavily at her side. “Hang on there, help’s coming.”

“Dean?” Her eyes opened, but her skin was so very pale. “You. . . okay? Kids?”

”We’re fine, he’s gone,” Dean told her. He glanced desperately at the window, as if his strength of will alone could get the cops to hurry.

Jo gasped. “Dean?” When she saw him look back down at her, Jo tried to smile. The lifting of her lips, though, only caused the blood to fall faster from her mouth. “If it weren’t for. . . Sam. . . . would you and me have. . . .?”

Dena drew from years of experience and lied through his teeth. “Absolutely,” he assured her, bending to put a chaste kiss on her lips.

When he pulled back, she was dead.

“No,” he moaned, slapping the floor with his hand.

“Mr. Winchester?” A voice called from the porch. “It’s the St. Peter police, are you all right?”

“Hurry, we’ve got a wounded woman in here,” Dean yelled. “Just kick the damn door down and get in here.”

Within moments, three concerned policeman were in the kitchen. One of them was Nick Cummins and he helped Dean to his feet while his compatriots tended to Jo, rather futilely as far as Dean could tell.

“One of your neighbors called headquarters and said someone matching the attacker’s description was seen lurking around your place,” Cummins explained. “We got here as fast as we could. What happened?”

“The attacker showed up here,” Dean explained. He was already making his way to the basement. “Jo tried to stop him while I got the kids to the basement and he stabbed her. He ran off.” He pointed in the direction that Gordon left. “That way.”

Cummins nodded at him and immediately went for the radio. Dean stumbled down the stairs. He was relieved to find that the door was still firmly shut.

“Strawberry Poptarts,” he said loudly as he leaned his forehead against it. “Strawberry Poptarts.”

The door opened tentatively and Dean waited until Liddy could get a good look at him. Her eyes widened and Dean looked down. His outer shirt was covered with Jo’s blood. When a snarl, he stripped it off, headless of the pain in his back and stumbled into the room.

Michael and Danny were sitting calmly on a pile of sleeping bags. He closed his eyes in profound relief.

“DeeDee?”

When Dean opened his eyes, Michael was standing right in front of him. “Come here,” he fell to his knees and pulled Michael into a tight hug, one arm reaching for Danny. In a moment, the smaller boy was held close too.

“DeeDee, Miss Jo left, didn’t she?” Michael asked. “She’s gone.”

Dean nuzzled his face into Michael’s hair. “Yeah, she’s gone.”

Michael tugged on his arm until Dean looked at him. “DeeDee, she was happy when she left. Really happy.”

Now that the attack was over and the cavalry had arrived, Dean was starting to feel the after effects of the adrenalin rush that had helped him deal with it. It took him a moment to realize the import of what his son was saying.

”You felt her . . . leave?” Dean asked, looking at Liddy over the boy’s head. Her expression looked as dumbstruck as he felt. 

“Yeah,” Michael nodded. “And she was really, really glad to go.”

Dean hugged his children closer. “That’s good to know, buddy, thanks.”

Michael shouldn’t have been able to feel Jo’s death, not with Danny around to block his gift. Whether that meant that Michael’s ability was getting stronger or that Danny’s emotional withdrawal had made his weaker, Dean didn’t know. At the moment, he didn’t care, although he had a feeling he probably should. Instead, he sank to the floor with his arms around his children, just thankful that they were alive and trying very hard not to think of the woman that had died to keep it that way.

~to be continued in Hunter Chapter 9~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on March 4, 2007


	45. Hunter - part 9

Between Sam and John, they must have tried to call the house a hundred times in the 45 minutes it took Bobby to race the truck back to St. Peter. Each time, their hopes rose as their phones turned on, but were dashed again when they realized they were still out of service.

Sam’s head felt like it was about to blow off. He’d never tried to instigate a vision before, but in desperation, he attempted to force one as they rushed back to the house. His head hurt with the effort, but it did no good. No matter how hard he pushed his mind, the gift remained elusive and the only thing he triggered was another headache.

As they got closer to St. Peter and the house, Sam found himself leaning forward in his seat as though he could make the truck go faster by sheer willpower alone. A movement from behind him caught his attention. Sam smiled grimly as he realized that his father, who was seated in the extended cab portion of the truck, was doing the same.

It was the longest 45 minutes in his life, even though Bobby’s wild driving shaved some time off the return journey and he did so in spite of the rain that was coming down in sheets. Sam didn’t know what to think when he saw a duo of squad cars at the end of the drive. That was either a really, really good sign or a really, really bad one.

“Keep on going,” Sam instructed Bobby. 

Thankfully, both officers standing there recognized them and stepped back, because from the look on his face, Bobby was more than willing to run them down. The truck careened several dozen yards up the long driveway before it had to come to a halt. Through the falling rain, Sam could make out that there were police cars, county cars, and emergency response vehicles clogging the area. Strangely enough, there was also an animal control truck, but what really made Sam’s heart sink was the sight of the coroner’s wagon.

“Oh, no,” Sam moaned as he fumbled for the door handle. 

He all but fell out of the truck and immediately start running for the house. As he did, the front door opened and a stretcher was wheeled out, an ominous black-bagged form on it. Office Tim Patterson was escorting it, his face wet. From his expression, the moisture wasn’t all because of the rain, either. As the young policeman saw Sam, though, he hastened forward.

“It’s Miss Harvelle,” he explained rapidly. “The rest of your family are fine, they’re in the garage.”

Sam barely heard the last words before he was off and running, his father and Bobby close behind. Sam was younger, though, and his legs longer. He got there before either of the other men. Every light they had was on, as were portable floodlights, so despite the gloom of an afternoon thunderstorm, Sam could clearly see that the garage was open and that Dean was leaning up against the trunk of the Impala, one of the boys to either side.

Even later, Sam didn’t have a memory of covering those last few yards. One moment, he saw his family, the next they were in his arms. 

“Thank God,” he murmured over and over again. “Thank God.”

Sam would have been content to stand there longer, just holding his loved ones, but Dean started coughing. Sam pulled back, alarmed at how gray his brother’s face was. He rubbed Dean’s back until the spasm passed.

“Are you all right?” Sam asked in concern. He gave all three of them a quick once over, but as far as he could tell, no one was injured. 

To Sam’s concern, Dean not only didn’t pull out of his arms, but leaned into the embrace.

“Yeah, well, I’ve had better days,” Dean admitted. “Did they tell you . . . about Jo?”

Sam looked down at the boys, who just gazed back at him in surprising equanimity. From the way Dean had phrased it, Sam wasn’t sure how much the boys knew, so he kept his response equally vague. “Yeah.”

“Dean helped fight the attacker,” Liddy spoke up. “I think it was harder on him than he wants to admit.”

Sam looked over to where her voice came from to find his stepmother engulfed in his father’s arms. It occurred to him then that John had had more at stake than his son and grandsons. After having already lost one wife to a demon, John’s second chance at love had been in harm’s way. It was a wonder he hadn’t been a basket case by the time they got home.

“He got away,” Dean stated in a dull voice. “He came into our house and did that to Jo and he just walked away.”

Officer Cummins chose that moment to come by and check on them. Sam pounced the hapless man before he did more than open his mouth.

“Why is my family out here, in the rain?” Sam demanded. “My husband already has a weakened lung, this is not doing him any good. They should be somewhere warm and dry.”

And safe.

“Whoa, back off there, tiger,” Dean cautioned him, putting a hand on Sam’s chest. “Nick’s doing the best he can.”

Officer Cummins threw him a grateful look. “We’ve been trying to get Dean to go to the hospital, but he won’t budge.” 

Sam glared at his brother. “Why not?”

“I wanted to be here when you got home,” Dean stated simply. “I knew you’d freak.”

“Well, I’m home now and I’m taking you to the hospital, whether you want to go or not,” Sam gave the policeman a defiant glare and Cummins held up his arms as if in surrender. 

“We’ve got no problem with that,” Cummins tried to appease him. “In fact, if you want to go in the ambulance, we’ve got one here waiting.”

“Can we, DeeDee? DaSa?” Michael asked eagerly. “With a siren and everything?”

“No,” Dean answered before Sam could. “Ambulances should be saved for hurt or sick people. I’m fine.”

The closer a look Sam got at Dean, the less certain he seemed of that. He’d already noted that Dean’s color was off, but now that he was able to examine his closer, he could see that Dean was shaking, even if just a little, and that his eyes were glassy.

“We’ll take the SUV,” Sam capitulated. He wasn’t so sure that Dean didn’t need an ambulance, but despite the boys’ obvious enthusiasm at the opportunity to ride in one, didn’t want to make a bigger deal out if than it already was.

“Liddy and I will stay here,” John offered. He still had an arm around his wife, who looked very happy to be sheltered there. “Ellen’s probably already on an airplane, but we don’t know what airline or when she lands. We do know that she’ll come here as soon as she arrives.” His expression was sober. “She deserves to get the news in person and not from a stranger.”

Sam nodded, grateful. He agreed that Ellen deserved to have the news broken to her gently about her daughter, but in no way was he prepared to be the one to do it. Nor did he want Dean to, not with how fragile his brother was looking. 

“We’ll be in touch,” Sam promised, although with cell phones being down, he wasn’t quite sure how. He kept an arm around Dean’s waist as he started to guide his family to the SUV.

“I’m coming with you,” Bobby stated. “The dogs are okay, just drugged, and Johnny can keep an eye on them.”

“Thanks,” Sam said gratefully.

He got Dean settled into the front seat of the SUV and the boys clambered into the back readily enough. Sam had seen the coroner’s wagon leave earlier, so he wasn’t worried about the children seeing something they shouldn’t. Bobby followed in his truck and, once they pulled out, Dean reached for the dashboard. The movement caused him to groan, but he seemed determined to put on some music.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked in disbelief. Dean just looked at him and continued to fiddle with the controls, until the music was just playing in the back.

“I thought we could talk about what happened,” Dean explained as he settled back in his seat. “Without little ears listening.”

“The Peabody brothers were a ruse,” Sam told him, seeing the wisdom in his brother’s suggestion. “They knew Gordon all right, but didn’t want to have anything to do with him. Turns out they were scared of him.”

Dean nodded and closed his eyes, resting his head back against the leather seat. “Figured as much.”

“Dean,” Sam prompted when several minutes went by without his brother saying anything more. “Can you tell me what happened?”

After sighing, Dean opened his eyes, although he stared straight forward instead of looking at Sam. “We got the news about the train wreck and the cell phones being unavailable, so both Jo and I were on edge. It didn’t do us any good. I noticed one of the dogs was down and then I saw Gordon on the edge of the property. I was helping Liddy get the boys downstairs when Jo pushed me in the room too and locked it from the outside.” He turned to gaze at Sam, heart in his eyes. “I wouldn’t have made her face that bastard alone, Sam. I’m not a coward.”

Sam reached for his hand. “I know you’re not.”

“By the time I got out and upstairs, Gordon had stabbed her,” Dean commented. “I left my gun with Liddy, so I couldn’t shoot the bastard.”

“And then the cops came?” Sam prompted.

Dean shook his head. “Not just yet. Gordon wanted to get to the kids.” Dean swallowed heavily, which set off a round of coughing. Sam’s chest hurt just to listen to it. When it passed, his brother continued the story. “We exchanged pleasantries.”

Sam snorted. “I can just imagine that.”

“Well, mine might have consisted of a screwdriver through his hand,” Dean admitted with satisfaction. “And then we heard the sirens.”

“It’s not over,” Sam commented after a couple of minutes of contemplation. “He’ll be back, we can count on it.”

“He said the third time was the charm,” Dean agreed. He seemed to hesitate before coming to a decision. “Sammy, there’s something I have to tell you.”

The turn-off for the hospital was just ahead and Sam waited until he’d navigated it before replying. “Yeah?”

“Jo, was still alive when Gordon left and I. . . .” Dean sighed. “I kissed her.”

Sam could sense some underlying emotion in Dean’s admission, maybe shame, and hastened to reassure his brother. “She was dying and she helped save our children, Dean. I think that was a kindness.”

Dean didn’t lose any of his tension. “I thought it was the least I could do. But, there’s something else you should know.”

“What?” Sam asked with trepidation. He didn’t even need to see Dean’s face to know he wasn’t going to like what he had to say.

“When I got back downstairs with the kids,” Dean licked his lips. “Michael pretty much told me that he’d felt Jo die.” At Sam’s shocked expression, Dean hastened to clarify. “Well, I’m not sure that he knows that she died, he said he felt her leave or go away. . . and he said she was happy.”

By this time, they’d reached the hospital and Sam pulled the SUV underneath the entrance canopy. He looked at Dean in shock. “Happy?”

”Yeah,” Dean nodded. “Blew my mind a little bit too.”

Sam tilted the rearview mirror so he could see into the back seat. Both boys were calm and Danny even had his head bobbing a little bit to the music. “You think that’s why they’re not so traumatized this time?”

Dean shrugged and then winced. “That and they didn’t see anything. They were worried because Liddy and I were frightened, but they didn’t see Gordon and didn’t see what happened to Jo.”

”And Michael said she was happy,” Sam repeated softly.

“To be perfectly honest with you,” Dean’s laugh was shaky, as was his smile. “I’m tryin’ not to think about that too much.”

Sam's grin had no humor to it. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

Bobby pulled up next to them and motioned for Sam to roll down his window. After he’d done so, Bobby made a suggestion. “Leave your SUV there with the keys inside while I park my truck. Then I’ll come back and move it for you.”

”Thanks, Bobby,” Sam was grateful. It was still raining and he didn’t want Dean out in it.

For once they didn’t have a long wait in the emergency room. Not only had Officer Cummins called ahead to alert them that the Winchesters were coming, but there was a plethora of hospital staff. When the train derailment had occurred, they called in extra medical personnel, but thankfully there’d been few injuries. Within moments of walking in, Dean was being seen by a doctor. The kids waited in the lobby with ‘Uncle’ Bobby and were content, since he had change for the vending machines and didn’t believe in sugar restrictions the way their fathers did.

As luck would have it, Dr. Khosla was on duty, the same physician that had been the first to treat Dean following the original gunshot wounds.

“Well, Mr. Winchester, I would say that you’re a very lucky man,” the doctor told them after a battery of tests had been run. “Your wounds were healed enough that your most recent exertion didn’t break them open.”

Sam snorted. ‘Exertion’ was an understatement for saving their kids’ lives. Again.

“But you have taxed your body beyond its limits,” Dr. Ghupta continued. “And there’s a rattle in your chest I’m not happy with.”

“You took x-rays,” Dean questioned him. “Did they show anything?”

“No,” the doctor admitted. “But, Mr. Winchester, your white blood cell count is high, you’re running a fever, dehydrated and the oxygen count in your blood is lower than it should be. Your leg is also showing signs of strain. In short, you should have stayed in the hospital longer the first time and now it’s catching up to you. Let us rectify that and make sure you don’t get any worse or cause your family any additional worry.”

Sam saw the mulish expression come over Dean’s face at that last comment and hastened to diffuse the situation. “Thank you, Dr. Ghupta. Could we have a minute to discuss this?”

“Of a certainty,” the doctor nodded at them solemnly and took his leave.

“Don’t even start, Sammy,” Dean growled. “I am not staying here. We’ll be sitting ducks at the hospital.”

“Think about it, Dean,” Sam encouraged. “The hospital is an added layer of protection. The second attack will rouse the whole town. Gordon Walker won’t be able to get within a mile of here without being spotted.” He shrugged. “Besides, our house is a crime scene, remember? That leaves Dad’s place and we won’t all fit there.”

Dean sighed. “Cummins did say that it was someone reporting seeing Gordon on our property that got them to come check things out.”

“See?” Sam pressed. “We’ll ask if the hospital can give you a room of your own and do like we did in Minneapolis.”

“I hate that the boys are spending so much time hanging out in hospitals,” Dean complained.

Sam shrugged. “It’s better than some of the places we hung out.”

Dean grimaced. “Gee, that makes me feel so much better.”

“Sam? Dean?”

Both Winchesters looked over to see Officer Nick Cummins standing tentatively at the door to Dean’s emergency room cubicle.

“Is this a bad time?”

“No,” Sam answered graciously. “Of course not.”

The policeman came in, along with an older man, who was dressed in a formal police uniform. “I’d like you to meet Chief Rendler.”

“Gentelmen,” the police chief took off his hat and nodded at them. “Let me apologize on behalf of the city of St. Peter for what happened to you.”

“Not the city’s fault,” Dean replied. “We know you’ve been working real hard at finding this crackpot.”

”But it wasn’t enough,” Chief Rendler pointed out. “We just wanted you to know that we’ll be increasing the protection. In fact, a number of our officers have volunteered their off-time to give your family 24/7 coverage.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Sam thanked him before Dean could refuse the extra help. “We appreciate it.”

The chief nodded. “Are you going to be spending the night here?”

“I guess so,” Dean’s answer was a little grumpy, but everyone ignored it.

“Good. If you don’t mind me saying so, sir, you look a little the worse for wear,” the chief continued before Dean could protest. “Officer Cummins will work with hospital security to set up the protection detail while you’re here.”

“Thank you, Chief Rendler,” Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, reminding him to stay calm. When the two policemen left, Sam started talking before Dean could chew him out. “He lured us away, Dean, and he probably has Ash. The stakes are even higher now.”

Dean slumped back against the bed in defeat. “Yeah, I know. Sammy, I’m getting tired to dancing to this jerk’s tune.”

Sam kissed his brother gently. “So am I, Dean. So am I.”

*  
*  
*

Dean was getting used to waking up to find that someone had been watching him sleep. He didn’t particularly like being alone, hadn’t since he was a kid, but sometimes there was such a thing as too much togetherness. The sleep watching thing was sexy when it was Sam and it had something to do with post-loving bliss. What had been happening lately was the hovering kind, though, and it wasn’t just Sam doing it, which amounted to no fun at all.

The hospital had indeed given Dean a room of his own. The kids had slept on the other bed and Sam had planted himself in the chair at Dean’s bedside. Bobby camped out in the waiting room and a police officer was stationed just outside the door. The next morning when the nurses came in for Dean’s morning care, Sam had taken the kids to the cafeteria to eat. After the nurses were done, Dean’s own breakfast didn’t seem very appealing and he’d felt secure enough in his surroundings to fall into a light doze. 

When he woke to sense someone sitting next to him, Dean assumed it was Sam. 

“Hey, you guys done already?” He asked blearily as he turned. “That was. . . Ellen.”

Ellen Harvelle was seated in Dean’s bedside chair. Her eyes were red, but her face was a study in determination.

“Don’t blame Sam,” she greeted him. “He’s still feeding your boys. It was your dad that said it was okay if I came to talk to you while you were alone.”

Dean struggled to sit up in bed and was embarrassed when she had to help him. He’d taken far too much from the woman already. “Ellen, I am so sorry. . . .”

Ellen nodded briskly. “Me too.” She took a deep breath. “And that’s why I wanted to talk to you. Jo. . . what happened with Jo wasn’t your fault.”

“She was protecting my family,” Dean stated quietly. “That makes me at least partially responsible.”

“You’re a Winchester all right,” Ellen scoffed. “You think the whole world rests on your shoulders and you’re to blame for every damn thing that goes wrong.” She patted his leg in a strangely comforting way. “Now, I just want you sit there for a few minutes and keep your mouth shut while I talk. If that’s possible.”

Dean had, in fact, opened his mouth to speak, but closed it at her last comment. 

“Truth of the matter is, I lost Jo a long time ago,” Ellen explained, blinking rapidly. “She wanted to hunt; I didn’t want her to. I managed to get her to go to college, but I couldn’t keep her there. Jo was hell bent on hunting and nothing was going to stop her, especially her mamma.” She cleared her throat. “After she met you and there was all that nastiness, Jo took off. Sometimes I wouldn’t see her for months.”

Dean looked away and Ellen seemed to sense his discomfort. 

“That wasn’t your fault either,” she told him bluntly, but she didn’t linger on the subject. “She was gone a long time, almost a year, before she came back last Christmas. She looked shot to hell, but you know Jo. She wouldn’t admit anything was wrong and, when she wanted to stay for a while, I was relieved.” 

Ellen got up and strode to the window, staring out of it for a few minutes before turning back to Dean to continue her story. “She was different, Dean. At first, I just thought she’d finally had too much of the hunting lifestyle, but it went deeper than that. A lot deeper.” She smiled sadly. “I got tired of seeing her all ripped to shreds inside and not willing to say what it was. You’re a parent, you know how you can just sense when there’s something wrong with your child.”

Dean nodded. The year Michael had been in first grade, another student had given him a hard time for having two fathers as parents. It had taken weeks to figure out what was going on. From his dejected manner and reluctance to go to school, both Sam and Dean had known that something was wrong, but it had taken time to get Michael to tell them. That waiting had hurt, a lot, and Dean could well imagine the anguish that Ellen had gone through.

“Finally, I took advantage of the fact that I own a bar and got her rip roaring drunk,” Ellen admitted. “Turns out that before Jo came home, she’d gotten herself pregnant.” She snorted. “Well, some guy she’d shacked up with got her pregnant. Jo never did tell me his name, just that he wasn’t the sort that she’d want to help her raise her child.” 

Ellen fell silent and stared at her feet, obviously finding it difficult to go on. Dean finally spoke. “Jo had a baby?”

“She got pregnant,” Ellen corrected him, looking up again. “But as much as she wanted her child, she didn’t stop hunting.”

Dean felt his eyes widen. He remembered well the temptation and how hard it had been to give up the work that he loved. In the end, though, there’d been no other choice. Hunting was too dangerous when you were carrying another life inside of you.

“She lost the baby,” Dean guessed.

“Yeah.” Ellen scrubbed her hands across her face. “I guess it was a pretty simple spirit elimination, but she got tossed down a flight of stairs and had a miscarriage. She was five months along; it would have been a girl.”

“Oh, man,” Dean breathed. Several times after she’d come to help them, Dean had noticed Jo watching him and the kids with a haunted expression on her face. At the time, he thought it was because of him, but now he knew it had to have been about the children. “That’s. . . that’s rough.”

Ellen crossed the room and sat back down beside Dean. She took his hand before she spoke again. “She hadn’t forgiven herself and I don’t think she ever would have. I should have warned you, when I found out she’d shown up at your place.” Ellen smiled sadly. “Dying to save a child. . . well, I can’t imagine anything that she would have wanted more.”

“Did they tell you?” Dean asked after a couple of moments of silence. “About what Michael said?”

“That she was happy when she died, yes.” Ellen wiped away a tear. “That helps. A little, anyway.”

Dean nodded, looking down at their clasped hands for a moment before gazing back up at her. “We’re going to get that fucker, Ellen. I promise you that. I don’t care if Jo was dancing on her tiptoes after he. . . he did what he did. He’s going to pay.”

“Of course he is, darlin’.” She assured him with a feral smile. “And I want my pound of flesh out of him too.”

“Dean?” Sam poked his head in the door, looking apprehensively from Dean to Ellen. “Ellen?”

“It’s fine, Sammy,” Dean gestured him in. “Ellen and I were just talking about what body part to cut off our mutual friend first.”

Sam came all the way in, closing the door behind him. “Ellen, I am so sorry.”

Ellen and Dean exchanged quick glances and Ellen was almost smiling when she replied. ‘Thank you.” She ignored Sam’s confused look. “Can you tell me anything about Ash? John was saying that you boys thought that Gordon had him?”

“It looks that way,” Sam admitted. “It was his phone call that drew us away and Dean thinks that Gordon had inside information to bring the security system down.”

“Which means that Gordon’s not playing nice. Ash is many things, but a snitch is not one of them.” Ellen clearly had shoved her grief down in order to deal with the problem at hand. “I’ve got some phone calls to make. Nothing personal, boys, but him targeting a single family is one thing, him killing other hunters is something else. I think we’ll be getting more information now.”

“We still don’t know who he was working with,” Dean cautioned.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ellen shook her head. “When word gets out of what he’s done, there won’t be a rock big enough for him to hide under.” She got up. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”

Sam watched as she strode out of the room. “She seems to be taking it well.”

“Nah, it just hasn’t hit her yet,” Dean disagreed. He cleared his throat. “Sammy, do you remember when I was pregnant with Michael and I got mad because you tied me to the bed so I couldn’t hunt?”

“Yeah?” Sam looked confused as he took Ellen’s place at Dean’s bedside. 

“I never said thank you,” Dean replied. He tried to smile. “Thanks.”

Sam cocked his head to the side. “Do I want to even know what that’s about?”

Dean shrugged. “Probably not, but I’ll tell you anyway. Later.”

“You know what?” Sam bent forward to kiss Dean gently before he got up, careful not to mess up the nasal canula that Dean was once again forced to wear. “The boys are outside with Dad. I’m going to go get them, because I think you could really use seeing them right now.”

“That might be a good idea,” Dean admitted. He watched as Sam’s eyes widened at his unexpected agreement. His brother immediately left and Dean grinned at his discomfiture. The smile slid away, though, as he thought of how Jo had lost her baby. It could have happened to him.

Despite everything going on with Gordon Walker, Dean was a lucky man.

~to be continued in Hunter - part 10~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted March 5, 2007


	46. Hunter - part 10

Sam wasn’t sure what Ellen had said to Dean, but he was relieved to see a little of the despair leave his brother. It never sat well with Dean to have someone else fight his fights for him and to have that someone die while doing it. . . Sam had been worried about how his brother would handle that. Dean was still melancholy, but it had lightened a little. When John brought in bags of McDonalds for lunch, Dean’s mood improved even more. There was nothing like fried food to sweeten Dean’s disposition.

The problem with the added police protection was that it made planning hunting strategy more difficult. Dean, Liddy and John ended up playing a game of ‘Go Fish’ with the boys while the others found a quiet corner of the waiting room, away from the police sentry, to discuss their options. Ellen was right, the hunting community was in an uproar about Gordon Walker’s murder of Jo and probable kidnap of Ash, but so far, no one had come forward with additional information.

“Shit always rises to the surface,” Ellen stated grimly. “He can’t hide forever.”

“He doesn’t have to,” Sam pointed out. “He just has to stay under the radar long enough for us to become complacent.”

Neither Bobby nor Ellen had a comeback for that. Sam slumped down in his chair, but looked up immediately when the elevator doors opened. When he saw Sheriff Paulson, he immediately got up.

“Sheriff,” Sam called out to him. “Do you have an update?”

Paulson stopped and waited for Sam to catch up. From the way the man’s eyes tracked behind him, Sam knew the others had followed. “Yes, I do. I was going to your husband’s room, but do you want to talk here?” 

Sam thought about it, but didn’t want to leave Dean out of the loop more than he already was. “No, he’ll want to hear it too.”

They trooped down the corridor the short distance to Dean’s room, which was at the end of the hall. The eyes of the policeman stationed there widened a bit when he saw the group, but he let them through without comment.

Danny was making the motions of casting out a line and reeling it in, which caused Michael to groan.

“That’s not fair, DeeDee,” the eight year-old complained. “You’re helping him.”

“He’s four, Mikey. I helped you when you were four too,” Dean responded complacently. “Now do like the man says and go fish.”

Sam knew that his father and brother, at least, had been aware of their approach from at least halfway down the hall. Dean made a point, however, of casually looking up when they came in.

“Hey there, Sheriff.”

“Dean,” the sheriff nodded at them. “I have some news about the man who attacked you.” 

Liddy popped out of her seat. “Maybe I should take the boys for some ice cream. I think the sign in the cafeteria said something about making your own sundaes.”

“That sounds good,” John got up too, although more slowly. They knew that Paulson was probably there to fill them in on Gordon Walker’s identity. It had been agreed that it would be better that fewer people be there to fake their reactions when the time came. “What do you say boys?”

“Yum,” Michael stated, making his opinion readily known as he joined his grandparents. 

Danny tossed his cards down and eagerly followed his brother.

“You know, a hot fudge sundae sounds mighty tasty,” Bobby commented in a deadpan expression. He followed the Winchesters out of the room.

“I’m staying,” Ellen stated flatly.

“Um, Sheriff Lars Paulson, I don’t know if you’ve met Ellen Harvelle,” Sam made the introduction. “Her daughter was the one killed.”

“We met last night,” the sheriff tipped his hat at her. “Let me say again how sorry I am for your loss.”

“Just tell me that you have something on the man that murdered her.” Ellen had never been much for niceties and cut straight to the point.

Sheriff Paulson seemed relieved not to have to offer any more condolences. “I have a name. We believe the attacker to be one Gordon Walker.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other and shrugged. 

“That doesn’t sound familiar,” Sam replied. “Should we know him from somewhere?”

The law officer deflated a little at their blank expressions. “We were hoping you would. We found a couple of fingerprints in your kitchen and pulled him up in the system. He was in prison until last month on another murder charge. Have you ever been to Lafayette, Indiana?”

Dean sighed. “That’s a problem. We spent two years on the road when Sam was researching his dissertation. If it’s a small town in the Midwest, then we’ve probably been there. Twice.”

“I might know a Gordon,” Ellen offered. “Never did hear his last name. Do you have a picture of the man?” 

“Actually, I have several,” the sheriff responded.

For the first time, Sam noticed the folders tucked under Paulson’s arm. Using the moveable table by Dean’s bed, the sheriff took several pictures out of an envelope and spread them out. “Is one of these men the man who attacked you?”

Sam didn’t look at the pictures; he studied his brother’s face. Dean’s expression was furrowed in concentration, but Sam didn’t see any signs of distress.

“He’s not here,” Dean said after he’d looked at every photo. “None of these is the guy.”

Paulson looked satisfied as he gathered up the pictures and stowed them away. He took out the second envelope and displayed a second set of pictures. The third one was Gordon Walker. Sam was glad that Sheriff Paulson was watching Dean and not him. Sam wasn’t supposed to know what Walker looked like, but couldn’t help sneering when he saw the man’s image. Luckily, Dean didn’t have to dissemble and, under the circumstances, no one would fault him for displaying hatred for his attacker as he recognized him.

“That’s him,” Dean tapped on Gordon’s photo.

“Good,” the sheriff commented. “That’s the man that matches our fingerprint. Gordon Walker.”

“Can I see?” Ellen asked. Wordless, Dean handed her the picture. “Yeah, this is Gordon, all right.”

Sheriff Paulson’s eyebrows lifted. “You know this man?”

“I own a bar in Nebraska,” Ellen explained. “My late husband had an interest in the paranormal. He wasn’t a scholar, like Sam. Bill was more of a story collector. Anyway, he got known for it in the area and, even though he’s been dead for years, people with a similar inclination tend to gather there. That’s how I met the Winchesters in the first place.”

“And Gordon Walker was one of them?” The sheriff asked, keenly interested in what she was saying.

Ellen shrugged with studied nonchalance. This story had been worked out in detail amongst the hunters when they realized that they may need to account for Ash’s involvement in the whole mess. The Harvelles could be explained away as friends of the family, but if Ash was connected to it too, then things could get messy.

“I wouldn’t say I know him,” Ellen commented. “Didn’t even know his last name. Gordon was a loner; you could just tell from his eyes that he took this stuff way too seriously. People avoided him.”

“And you never met him?” Paulson asked Sam.

Sam shrugged. “Not that I recognize. My dissertation was on the prevalence of paranormal-related urban legends in the Midwest, so I interviewed a lot of people. I can check my notes, if you’d like, and see if his name is mentioned.” He put on his best innocent puppy expression. “Why are you asking? Is it important? I thought you said that Dean and the kids were attacked because of Dean and I’s lifestyle?”

The sheriff looked a little embarrassed. “That’s what we thought originally, but it turns out that this Gordon Walker has a history with the occult. That murder he committed in Indiana? He told the court-ordered psychiatrist something about doing the world a favor and eliminating evil.” He grimaced. “He also was linked to killings in three other states, but nothing could be proven and he never confessed. All of them had some sort of supernatural spin. One old woman he killed was rumored by the town’s kids to be a witch and the others were equally odd. We’re thinking now that he targeted your family because of your research and the subject you taught at the college, Dr. Winchester.”

The use of his formal title startled Sam a little, but he recovered quickly. “That may be right. Occult and paranormal studies are really a cultural phenomenon and most people take them at face value, but a few become convinced that they’re true.”

“What he’s too nice to say is that there are crackpots out there,” Dean added. When Sam mock glared at him, Dean shook his head. “You forget, Sam, I saw a lot of the people you talked to and there was a reason I insisted on going along.” He addressed the rest of his comments to the sheriff. “He’s right in that most people just see these as what they are, stories, but once in a while you come across a true believer. Even most of those are pretty harmless, though. I know I never saw this Gordon Walker guy before the day in the park.”

Sam bit his lip to keep from laughing, despite the seriousness of the situation. To see Dean, the ultimate true believer, lie so convincingly about the nature of paranormal phenomenon was a sight to behold.

“Do you think that anyone else that gathers at your bar might have connections to this Walker?” Sheriff Paulson asked Ellen. “Be helping him in some way or know where he is?”

She shook her head. “He hasn’t been around in years and years. I hadn’t even heard that he was in jail.” Ellen bit her lip. “There is someone else, though. Another friend heard what happened to Dean and the boys and was going to come here to help. He never showed, though, and after what happened to Jo, I’m a little worried about him.”

The sheriff looked a little concerned that he had someone else that might be at risk. “Tell me what you know and I’ll see what I can find out.”

As Ellen started filling in Sheriff Paulson in on the details, Sam exchanged looks with Dean. The local authorities had been good to them through the entire ordeal and they hated to lie to them, but it was necessary. Gordon Walker had no reason to kill Ash, wouldn’t have killed Jo if she hadn’t tried to stop him, so there was a chance that Ash was still alive. If so, they needed to lay the groundwork to explain his involvement.

By the time the sheriff left, Sam was a bundle of nerves, something he hoped didn’t show. His primary concern remained on the safety of his family, but Sam realized that their way of life was at stake too. Their roots in St. Peter were far too deep to easily pack up and move on if they messed things up.

From the grayish color of Dean’s face, the interview had taken a lot out of him too. Ellen offered to go fill the others in on what had happened, leaving the Winchester brothers alone.

“You know how seriously the boys take ice cream,” Sam suggested. “They’re going to be a while yet. Why don’t you try to get some rest?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “I will if you will.”

“What?”

“Don’t give me the innocent act,” Dean huffed. “Everybody tells me that I look like crap, but you look like your head’s about to pop right off your neck. That headache’s still bothering you, isn’t it?”

“Fine,” Sam capitulated without admitting just how right his brother was. “We’ll both nap.”

Sam pulled the drapes closed and then went and laid down on the empty bed. He heard a soft sound of disappointment from the other side of the room and couldn’t help but smile.

“That bed might hold you and the boys, but not you and me,” Sam commented, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m too big.”

“We did it before. I can scoot over.”

Sam could hear the pout in his brother’s voice. “Na-huh. If we share a bed right now, there’s no way any napping is going to happen.”

“You say that,” Dean’s reply was interrupted by a big yawn. “Like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is if I want to look any of the nurses in the face later,” Sam snorted.

Sam knew why Dean was pushing. He missed their easy intimacy. Between Dean’s injuries and family and friends guarding them, the couple hadn’t had much alone time. They couldn’t afford to start anything and not just because they were in a semi-public place, either. Dean was just not up to it.

When Dean didn’t protest further, Sam looked over to check on him. Dean’s eyes were already closed; he needed the rest every bit as much as Sam thought he did.

When he’d agreed to rest, Sam had done it only as a ruse to get Dean to nap. He’d fully intended to pretend until Dean fell asleep, but as he lay watching, Dean, Sam felt himself drifting off. Vaguely, he was aware of the door opening and his dad coming in.

“Your fathers are sleeping,” Sam heard his father whisper hoarsely. “Let’s go back out to the waiting room and watch some television.”

“Okay, Grandpa.”

When they left, Sam gave up the fight and snuggled deeply into his pillow. He hadn’t slept in a real bed in a week and had spent the night before in a chair. A mattress, even a hospital mattress, felt divine.

The vision snuck up on him. At first, Sam thought it was a nightmare, his concern over Ash and his anger at Gordon Walker drawing them into his dreams. When he became aware of its clarity, however, Sam realized that it was something else.

It started with Ash’s face, the other man almost unrecognizable as his features contorted with pain. The vision drew back, showing Ash tied to a chair. Gordon Walker faced him and was holding a needle-nosed pliers that was ominously stained with blood. Sam moaned softly in his sleep as Gordon grabbed Ash by the chin and began forcing his jaws open. With Sam as an unwilling witness, Gordon used the pliers to wrench out one of Ash’s teeth. This vision was silent, but Sam didn’t need sound to know that Ash had screamed in pain. 

Telling himself that the events in the vision hadn’t taken place yet and that he still had a chance to make sure they never did, Sam tried to direct it. Ruthlessly, he dug in his mental heels and forced it wider, trying to see any details that would lead him to where Ash was being tortured. It felt like his head would rip apart, but slowly the vision shifted until Sam could see the entire room where the men were. It was enough to give him a location and with a soft moan, he let the vision go.

Sam blinked his eyes open and quickly stole a look at Dean. Seeing that his brother was still asleep, Sam breathed a sign of relief and quietly got up. Visitors weren’t supposed to use the small bathroom in Dean’s hospital room, but he did anyway. There was no way he could go out into the waiting room with blood dripping from his nose. 

He cleaned up quickly, making sure there was no blood left on his face or hands, nor in the sink, and headed out. As he approached the area, Sam saw that Liddy and the boys were curled up on a couch, watching TV and the hunters were gathered around a small table. As luck would have it, no one else was there.

Sam went immediately to the table and sat down. “I know where they are.”

Three sets of eyes immediately fixed on him.

“A vision?” John asked.

“Was Ash with him?” Ellen wanted to know after Sam nodded an affirmative to his father’s question.

“I saw them both,” Sam stated quietly. “They’re at the safe house in Faribault.”

There were a number of safe houses set up around the country, something that Sam and Dean would have loved, to have known about when they first hit the road together. The one in Faribault was a deserted hunting cabin, perfectly isolated.

“But we checked that place out,” Bobby protested. “It was one of the first hiding holes we tried. Are you sure?”

“All Gordon had to do was wait for us to clear the place off our list and move in,” John stated flatly. “He’s a sneaky one and he knows how other hunters think.”

“But he might not be there long,” Sam warned. “And, I’m sorry, Ellen, but Ash is in bad shape. We have to move fast.”

The four of them looked at one another, knowing not everyone could go. After what happened the last time, they could not afford to strip the protection off the rest of their group. That Sam was going was a given, but the make-up of the rest of the team was in question.

“I’m going,” Ellen said firmly. “After what he did to Jo, it’s my right.”

Sam nodded. He’d never hunted with Ellen and didn’t know how good she was in a fight, but given what had happened to her daughter, he couldn’t deny her.

“I’ll stay,” Bobby offered. “It wasn’t my kin that was harmed.”

“Thanks, Bobby, I’ll feel a lot better having someone with your experience help Dean out,” Sam thanked him. He looked at the other two. “Come on, let’s get moving.”

“Wait a minute there, son,” John grabbed Sam’s arm before the younger man could move. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“We’ve got your truck and Bobby’s here,” Sam stated. “We don’t have to go home for weapons, so we should just move out. Every minute we delay is another minute that Gordon could move and we’d be back to square one in finding him.”

“You can’t just go off without telling Dean what’s going on,” John retorted. “He has a right to know.”

Sam set his jaw mulishly. “That’s not your call to make, Dad. You saw him yesterday when we left, it tore him up. He’s sleeping. With any luck, it’ll be a done deal by the time he wakes up.”

“You do that and he’ll never forgive you,” his father warned.

“I gotta agree with your daddy, Sam,” Bobby entered the argument. “I don’t give a crap about that romantic kissy face stuff, but it’s going to take you at least an hour to drive to Faribault and we both know Dean won’t nap near that long. I’ll help you protect your family, but I am not going to be the one to tell Dean where you went. Your brother’s down, but he’s not out and I like my head on my shoulders, thank you very much.”

Seeing an equally solemn expression on Ellen’s face, Sam gave in. But not gracefully.

“Fine,” he snapped. “But if he insists on coming with us, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“That can’t happen either,” his father stated. “It’s your job to keep him in bed.” He grinned suddenly. “And I bet you never thought you’d hear me say that.”

Sam didn’t appreciate the humor. Without comment, he stalked off towards Dean’s room, nodding curtly to the policeman stationed outside. Once in the darkened room, he took a moment to just drink in the peaceful sight of Dean sleeping. Somehow knowing he was being observed, Dean murmured in his sleep. Sam sighed at the inevitable and moved to open the drapes that he’d shut such a short time ago. Once there was a little light in the room, he walked over and sat on the edge of his brother’s bed.

“Dean?” Sam gently brushed the hair back from Dean’s forehead. “I need you to wake up for me for a minute, baby.”

Whether it was the seriousness in Sam’s tone or the uncharacteristic endearment, Dean’s eyes popped open right away, almost startling Sam.

“Is everything okay?” Dean asked. “Are the boys all right?”

”They’re fine,” Sam assured him and then stopped. He really didn’t want to tell Dean. 

“You know where he is,” Dean stated. Apparently his brother knew Sam well enough that he could read the information in Sam’s face.

“Yeah,” Sam admitted, relieved that he wouldn’t have to break the news. “I had a vision. He’s got Ash in the safe house in Faribault.”

Dean took in the information without obvious emotion. “You have to go; you can’t wait for me to get better.”

“Dad and Ellen are going with me,” Sam told him. “I won’t be by myself. He’s hurting Ash, Dean.”

His brother tried to take a deep breath, but ended up coughing. Sam grabbed the glass of water that sat ever-ready on Dean’s bedside table. After he helped Dean take a couple of sips, the coughing spell stopped and Dean relaxed again against his pillows.

“Do what you have to do, Sammy,” Dean told him. “Just. . . don’t go ape shit. I know you’re pissed at Gordon; I am too. But don’t sink to his level.”

“I won’t,” Sam promised. He leaned in and kissed Dean gently. He could tell by the dry warmth of the other man’s lips that the fever was back.

“You just damn well better come back,” Dean threatened him. “And still be Sam when you do too.”

Sam stood. “I gotta go. I’ll be careful, I promise. Bobby’s going to stay.”

“We’ll be fine,” Dean reassured him, but when he waved his hand, it was less than enthusiastic.

Sam gave a little half-wave back. Walking out of that room was one of the hardest things he’d had to do. When he stepped across the threshold, he gave himself a little shake.

“Is everything okay?”

Startled, Sam looked over to see that, just in the short time he’d been visiting his brother, the guard on the door was changed. The officer currently keeping watch was Tim Patterson, the young man that had been sweet on Jo.

“It’s fine, Tim, thanks.” Sam gave the other man a small smile. “At least, as fine as it’s going to be for a while.”

“I understand.”

Sam took a couple of steps, but then came back as an opportunity to cement an alibi occurred to him. “You guys are going to be here awhile, right?”

”Absolutely,” the young officer assured him, looking resolute. “We’re here for the duration.”

“Good,” Sam smiled shyly. “My father and I need to help Jo’s mother with some. . . arrangements. After what happened, I hate to leave Dean and the boys, but Ellen really could use our support. It helps to know there will be someone here on guard.”

“He won’t get another chance at them,” Tim vowed. “I promise.”

Sam slapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

When Sam got back to the waiting room, he saw his father and Liddy standing in a close embrace. Liddy had her face hidden in his father’s chest and John was lightly stroking her hair. Sam swallowed. Even after years of seeing his father interact with his grandkids, Sam still wasn’t used to seeing his dad act so gently.

John wasn’t the only one with a farewell yet to give. Sam walked over to the couch where the boys were seated and crouched in front of them.

“Hey, guys,” he said to them. “Grandpa and I have to go help Aunt Ellen with something. I want you to be real good for Liddy and Uncle Bobby while we’re gone.”

“Will you be gone long?” Michael asked. Danny looked worried.

“I hope not,” Sam assured them. “But you’ll need to keep an eye on DeeDee while I’m gone.”

Michael smiled. “You mean, make sure he takes his medicine and eats his vegetables?”

Sam ruffled his hair. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Okay, we can do that,” Michael said and Danny shook his head vigorously.

As Sam started to get up, though, his sons’ expressions grew fearful. “DaSa, the bad man isn’t going to come again while you’re gone, is he?”

The question broke Sam’s heart.

“No, Michael, he won’t,” Sam replied firmly. He had to have faith in his vision and hope that it was true. “And even if he did, DeeDee’s here and Uncle Bobby too. Not only that, but there’s a policemen guarding you too.”

Michael smiled brightly. “And if the bad man does come, DeeDee will save us, right?”

Sam’s answer smile was a bit tremulous. “Right. Now come here and give me a hug.”

The boys eagerly clambered off the couch and into Sam’s arms. He hugged them both fiercely and kissed the tops of their heads before letting them go.

“All right,” Sam finally released his grip, loathe as he was to. As much as he would have loved continuing to hold his children, that wouldn’t help eliminate the threat of Gordon Walker. “Be good and I’ll be back soon.”

Sam waited until his sons were again seated on the couch before standing to rejoin his father. Like with Dean earlier, it was a difficult goodbye, but left him firm in his resolve. The safety of those two children was what everything was all about.

“You ready?” His dad asked as Sam drew close.

Sam nodded. “Let’s go.”

If anything, Bobby had underestimated how long of a drive it was between St. Peter and Faribault. They used both trucks, to give them flexibility if needed. Ellen asked to take Bobby’s truck by herself. Sam wasn’t so sure it was a good idea for her to be alone, but she insisted she needed the solitude. They drove as a pair, one truck after the other, and agreed on a spot to stop and reconnoiter that was about a mile from their destination.

John and Sam spent most of the drive in silence with John behind the wheel. The road sign that indicated that they were five miles out of Faribault, however, seemed to loosen John’s lips.

“You sure you’re ready for this, Sammy?”

The question irritated Sam. He’d never been as enthusiastic about hunting as his father or brother, but he did all right. Ever since the situation with Gordon Walker had exploded, first Dean and then their dad had acted like Sam was fragile. It was starting to get old.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” Sam stated firmly.

His answer was apparently too firm for his father’s liking. “We go in, we eliminate the threat to the family and we get out. Quick and clean. This isn’t about proving anything.”

Sam thought about his sons’ trusting faces. “I know, Dad. Believe me, I know.”

Silence descended again until they reached their rendezvous point, a public picnic spot about a quarter mile off the freeway. Truckers sometimes used it as a rest stop, but it was empty when John pulled in, Ellen right behind him.

At least, at first glance it was empty.

“Oh my God, Dad, that’s a body,” Sam pointed out to his father. A huddled figure could be seen just in the edge of the headlight’s beams.

“Careful, Sam,” John cautioned him, putting a hand on his son’s arm to keep him from leaping from the truck. “I know we’re here because of your vision, but it still could be a trap.”

Sam nodded, but Ellen had no one with her to stop her. Immediately after pulling the truck she was driving in next to the Winchesters’, Ellen ran out of her vehicle and dropped to her knees by the crumpled form.

“Damn it,” John cursed.

Sam fumbled for the door. After almost falling from the truck, he crossed over to Ellen, using a little more caution than she had, but not too much. He knew that his dad had their backs.

“It’s Ash,” Ellen told him as he approached. Her face, as she lifted it to look at him, was covered in tears.

If Ellen hadn’t told Sam, he never would have recognized the other man. In the vision he’d had of Ash, Sam’s focus had been first on Ash’s pain and then on his location. Sam hadn’t spared much attention to how his friend looked. Now it shocked him. Ash’s hair was gone. Not just cut, but shorn close to the scalp. From the spotty bloody patches on his head, some had literally been torn out.

Ash’s head wasn’t the only part of him that had seen abuse. He was shirtless and a number of cuts and bruises could be seen adorning his skin. He was also shoeless and Sam was glad for the dim light. He could tell himself that the blood on Ash’s toes was just because he’d stubbed his bare feet and not that most of his toenails were missing.

“Oh, your poor hand.”

Ellen had pulled Ash into her arms and was rocking him. At her comment, Sam looked closer and saw that all of Ash’s fingers on his left hand were odd angles. Each one of them had been broken.

In another man, the loss of hair would have been of no consequence. For Ash, it seemed to lessen him, even more than his injuries did. At first, he didn’t acknowledge Ellen’s presence or touch, but after she spoke, he finally seemed aware that he was no longer alone.

“P-please,” he begged, looking earnestly into Ellen’s face. “Tell me he lied. Jo. . . Jo didn’t die, not because of what I told him.” Ellen didn’t say anything, but then she didn’t need to. Her face crumpled and Ash groaned. “He did. He killed her and it’s all my fault.”

“Nothing Gordon Walker has done is your fault, Ash,” Sam told him gently. “You’re as much a victim as anyone else.”

“Jo wouldn’t blame you,” Ellen found her voice. “And I don’t either.”

“He made me tell,” Ash didn’t seem to realize he was babbling. “I didn’t want to, but he kept hurting me and hurting me. . . .”

“Ash, do you know where Gordon is?” Sam felt like a heel for pressing the injured man, but if they didn’t find Gordon, then all of Ash’s suffering — not to mention Jo’s death - would have been for nothing.

“He. . . he left,” Ash stammered. “Gordon left, said he needed supplies and that we’d. . . talk. . . again when he got back. He didn’t tie me up as tight as before, so I got loose. Ran.”

“Gordon underestimated you,” John spoke for the first time. “You’re stronger than he gave you credit for.”

“I don’t know, I didn’t get very far,” Ash replied. “I saw his car on the road, coming back. He’ll know I’m gone.”

“We have to move. Now.” Sam stated.

“I’m not leaving Ash,” Ellen declared.

John nodded. “You don’t have to. Stay here, in case Gordon makes it passed us and shows up looking for him.”

Ellen pulled out her gun and laid it within easy reach. “I’ll be ready for him if he does.”

“Dad, we gotta go,” Sam stood. “If we lose the element of surprise, Gordon could get away.”

“If I remember the terrain right, the shortest escape route from the cabin is to the highway,” John suggested. “If I were tracing a runaway, that would be the first place I’d look. Come on.”

John moved off a few steps, but Sam balked.

“He’s already underestimated Ash once,” Sam said. “Gordon’s not going to do it again. He’ll head this way.”

“We can’t split up, Sam,” John could see where Sam was headed. “It’s too dangerous.”

Sam shook his head. “Gordon doesn’t know we’re here. He’s looking for an injured, unarmed man, not a hunter loaded for bear and eager to take him down.”

“All right,” John conceded. He headed back to the truck and opened up the weapons cache. “But you watch your back and stay in touch.”

His father tossed a handheld radio at Sam, who caught it readily. John walked over to Ellen and handed her another one.

“You keep your eyes open,” he advised her. “Just in case.”

Ellen accepted the radio solemnly. “You can count on me.”

“And you be careful,” John warned Sam again. “I am not going to be the one to tell your brother you got killed by this asshole.”

Sam mustered a smile for his father, easily seeing past John’s gruff act to the deep concern that lay beneath the bluster. Dean often did the same thing, something he’d no doubt picked up from their dad.

“I’ll watch my back,” Sam promised. “You just be sure to watch yours. I don’t want to break any bad news to Liddy, any more than you want to with Dean. Of the two of them, she’s the scarier one.”

The men shared a smile and started to move off, each in his own chosen direction.

“Boys,” Ellen’s voice cracked, but her gaze was firm. “Whichever one of you finds him, be sure to cut out a pound of his flesh for me.”

Father and son had the same answer. “Yes, ma’am.”

Sam sacrificed speed for stealth. The vision gave him the element of surprise and he had no intention of wasting his advantage. The way to the cabin was wooded and Sam stuck to the shadows, moving slowly and keeping to the many dark patches. As he traversed the distance, Sam kept his other senses open, attuned to any sign that his prey was in the area.

He heard Gordon Walker before he saw him. Confident that Ash was hurt and alone, Gordon was actually taunting his captive as he tracked him. Sam slid behind a tree and waited for him to approach. His fingers hovered over the radio, but with a deliberate action, he dropped them back down. This was between him and the man who’d hurt his family.

“It’s no use, boy,” Gordon called out as he strode by Sam’s position. “You’re not a hunter, you’re just a researcher. If you were any good, the Winchesters wouldn’t have sent you packing. Catching you was like taking candy from a baby and you couldn’t even keep your mouth shut. It’s your fault that Jo Harvelle died. She was just like you. Helping evil makes you evil, Ash. There’s no escaping your punishment.”

Sam lifted his gun and aimed it at Gordon’s back. It could all be over in an instant. As his finger tightened on the trigger, though, the words the man was saying oozed over him. Sam remembered his sons’ frightened faces and Dean’s panic when he awakened at the hospital. In his mind’s eye, he saw Jo’s body being wheeled out of his home and Ellen’s reddened eyes as she tried not to weep. He could clearly see Ash’s shorn head bowed with shame.

Moving quietly as Dean and his father had taught him, Sam left the protection of his tree and followed Gordon, quiet as a thought. As he got closer, he lifted his gun, but not to shoot. Putting all of his pent up frustration and fear into his swing, he decked the other man, striking Gordon on the back of the head. 

Gordon fell, mid-taunt. Sam stood over him, panting heavily.

“It’s not going to be that easy,” Sam told the unconscious man. “Not after everything you’ve done.”

Sam checked to make sure Gordon was well and truly out and then used the man’s belt to bind his hands anyway. After taking Gordon’s gun and knives, Sam stuck his own weapon into the back of his pants. He hefted Gordon onto his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, grunting slightly at the weight. 

“What was that you were saying about being easy to catch?” Sam spoke to his prisoner, even though Gordon was unconscious. “Who’s the big hunter now?”

Sam had been to the cabin several times. Like the other hunters in the area, he’d helped to keep it stocked. Ash had come about a half mile, which, despite Gordon’s contempt, was a respectable distance, given his injuries. It was a hard hike, carrying another full grown man, but once again, Sam’s size came in handy. It only took a quarter hour or so to cover the same distance and soon the rundown little building was in sight.

Once he reached the edge of the cabin’s grounds, Sam unceremoniously dumped Gordon on the ground before checking the place out. A quick glance into the cabin showed that it was empty. There were signs of only a single occupant, with one notable exception. It made Sam feel better, that his enemy was so despicable that no one was willing to work with him.

Sam grabbed Gordon by the shirt collar and dragged him across the ground and into the cabin, heedless of how the man was slammed against rocks and other debris that littered the area. Sam shouldered the door open and brought Gordon inside. It was a small place, having only one room and was heated by a fireplace that was still burning. The singular sign that more than one person had been in the cabin was the chair that was in the middle of the floor. Smiling grimly at the justice of what he had in mind, Sam manhandled Gordon’s unconscious form into the it. The remnants of the ropes that had bound Ash to it remained, as did the bloodstains on the floor. Both were silent evidence of what Ash had endured.

It didn’t take much searching to find more rope and, by the time Gordon started to stir, he was firmly tied to the chair. Sam thought it fitting, not only because of Ash, but also because of the way Gordon had tied Dean the first time he’d hunted Sam. Payback, as Gordon Walker was about to find out, was a bitch.

“Hello, Gordon,” Sam greeted the other man affably when Gordon opened his eyes. He was leaning against the counter in the kitchenette, right in front of his prisoner. 

Gordon was caught, but definitely not cowed. “You hit a man from behind. Is that what your daddy taught you?”

Sam’s grin was not nice. “It’s more honorable than trying to kill a couple of children. What’s the matter, Gordon, are you afraid to take on someone old enough to be out of elementary school?”

“They aren’t children, they’re spawn of evil,” Gordon stated. He shook his head as if trying to clear it. “You may have everyone else fooled, Sammy, but not me. That demon chose you for a reason. You’re evil, with powers that were a gift straight from hell. You’re the worst kind of monster, the type that’s all pure-looking on the outside, but corrupt within. You and your offspring have to be destroyed, for the sake of everyone else.”

“And Dean?” Sam’s voice was a purr as he pushed himself off the counter and started circling Gordon, the man’s own knife dangling from his fingers. “Is he evil too?”

Gordon had an answer for that. He twisted in the chair, trying to track Sam’s movements, but his own ability to move was limited due to how he was tied. “Your brother was seduced by evil, otherwise he wouldn’t have been letting you do those things to his body, get him pregnant in the first place, let alone him impregnating you. He’s a victim, but I couldn’t let him stand in the way of my appointed task.”

“Was Jo a victim too?” Sam asked. He came to a stop directly behind Gordon and leaned forward close enough to whisper in the man’s ear. “And Ash?”

“Human, but like Dean, seduced into working for the powers of darkness,” Gordon didn’t react to the puff of warm breath that was Sam breathing on his neck. “I tried to redeem Ash, making him see the light for what he’d done, but every piece of information had to be torn out of him.”

“I can see that,” Sam said mildly as he kicked away a couple of teeth that had been discarded on the floor. “You know what I think?” He asked as he completed his circle and ended up in front of Gordon. “I think that you wanted to see evil. I think you judged me as evil and wouldn’t be swayed, no matter the good that I’ve done. After we defeated you the first time, you sat in that prison for years, unwilling to admit that you were wrong. You couldn’t stand that you’d been so mistaken and were jealous of the family we created.”

Gordon sneered. “I wanted to do the kids first. I knew seeing their blood would take that ‘polite boy’ veneer right off you and let everyone else see what I did. It would have been easy too, if it weren’t for your brother. Kids’ heads are soft and smash just like a melon’s.”

Sam’s hand was moving before he knew it and Gordon’s head rocked back from the blow. Blood started to trickle from his nose, but it didn’t seem to bother Gordon any. His tongue snaked out and licked it away.

“See, Sammy?” Gordon taunted. “See how easy it is to crack that ‘good boy’ shell of yours? Show me what you got.”

“What I have is a knife,” Sam lifted it up so Gordon could easily see it. “And the animal that hurt my family sitting, helpless, right in front of me. You shot Dean in the leg and now one of the most graceful people I know is hobbling around on crutches. I wonder what that feels like?”

Sam didn’t break eye contact with Gordon as he brought the knife down and plunged deep into the bound man’s thigh. Gordon screamed, but his cry ended in a hysterical laugh.

“That’s right, Sammy,” Gordon panted. “He bled like a stuck pig. Got on his knees and begged me for mercy too.”

Getting up impatiently, Sam pulled the knife out, ignoring the grunt of pain it caused, and paced behind Gordon. “You shot him in the back, but Dean wouldn’t give up his kids for you, would he? How did that feel, Gordon? A man you considered a victim and weak enough to be seduced by evil stood up to you, even when you’d shot him twice.” He dragged the knife across the back of Gordon’s neck, causing a thin line of blood to appear. “And he fought you off at the house too, even wounded. Who’s the better man, Gordon?”

“Not you,” Gordon retorted. “Those hands you’re slicing me with, Sammy, are those the same ones you’re gonna use to tuck your kids in at bedtime tonight?”

“He’s got a good point, Sam.”

Sam looked up to find his father standing in the doorway, gun in hand. “Dad.”

“Samuel, this is not right,” John told him as he came into the room. “Killing him is one thing, it needs to be done for the safety of our family, but torturing him, that’s just plain wrong, son.”

“He hurt Dean,” Sam retorted stubbornly. “He would have hurt Michael and Danny. He tortured Ash and killed Jo. He deserves it.”

“I’m not saying he doesn’t,” John replied. “I’m not asking you to stop for his sake, but yours. Don’t do this Sam, it makes you as bad as he is.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Sam disagreed. He stuck the knife into Gordon’s back, right at the shoulder, in approximation of where Dean had been shot. He pulled it out again before Gordon could do more than gasp.

“Sam. . .” John protested.

“No, Dad,” Sam shook his head. Spying the fireplace, he dropped the knife and approached it. “He has to pay for what he did.”

“And he will, son,” John assured him. “He’ll be punished by a much higher authority than you or me.”

“Yeah,” Sam admitted. He stuck a stick into the fire and watched it catch flame. “When I’m done with him and he’s dead, he’ll burn in hell, but that doesn’t mean we can’t start the proceedings here and now.”

Sam was in the process of turning back to Gordon, lit brand in hand, when a gunshot rang out. In the small room of the cabin, it was almost deafeningly loud and the walls literally shook. 

“Dad!” Sam growled as turned to find Gordon Walker slumped back in the chair. Blood was oozing from a single bullet hole in his forehead and the man’s eyes were open in death. “You had no right to do that.”

“No, I had every right,” John disagreed. He seemed utterly exhausted as he lowered his weapon. “Not just a right, a responsibility. You’re my son; I couldn’t stand here and let you tear a man to pieces.”

“And now you think of your parental responsibility,” Sam retorted. “All those years when you were dragging us all over the country, you never gave it a second thought and suddenly you’re qualified to make decisions about what’s best for my family? You taught Dean and I to kill, it’s a little late to be squeamish.”

Sam threw the burning stick into the fireplace in disgust. He shook with emotions that no longer had a place to go.

“You’ll understand some day,” John assured him, walking forward and putting a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“No, I don’t think I will,” Sam replied, shrugging him off. “Me and you, we’re through.”

And then he turned and walked away.

~the end~

(Don't kill me! Will be continued in the third and last story in this arc, Healing.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted March 6, 2007


	47. Healing - part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the third in a three-story arc set within the Baby Steps universe and is the sequel to Hunter. It will have 17 parts.

Sam walked out of the cabin without a backward glance. He heard a choked off noise that sounded a lot like his name, but he ignored it. Instead, he strode purposefully off into the woods, his long legs eating up a lot of ground. Without having to worry about being discovered by Gordon Walker or carrying the unconscious hunter, he made good time. It seemed like only a few minutes until he was entering the picnic area where they’d left Ellen and Ash.

“Sam, is that you?”

Ellen’s voice sounded tense and Sam couldn’t really blame her. Remembering that she had a gun, he hastened to offer reassurance before she shot him.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Sam called out as he came closer. “It’s over, Ellen.”

The other two were right where Sam and his father had left them. Ash was a miserable huddle on the ground and Ellen was a protective mama bear wrapped around him. She eyed Sam suspiciously as he approached, only relaxing when she realized that it really was him and that he was alone.

“Is he dead?” Ellen snapped.

Sam nodded solemnly. “Yeah.”

Ash whimpered and burrowed into Ellen’s arms. Her face crumpled as she held him close and Sam could see the tears in her eyes as she lifted her face to address him. “Did Gordon suffer much before he died?”

After his confrontation with his dad, it felt good to have someone share his feelings on the subject of Gordon Walker.

“Yeah, he suffered,” Sam said with a grin. His smile faded though, as he took another look at Ash. “Not enough, though.”

“There’s no such thing as enough when it comes to that rat bastard feeling pain,” Ellen replied fiercely.

“Well, that’s something you’ll have to take up with my father,” Sam told her. “Look, I have to get back to Dean and the kids.” He headed off towards the truck.

“Sam. . . .” Ellen pleaded, no doubt wanting details.

He sympathized with her need, but Sam had been away from his family too long the way it was. “Dad should be along in a few minutes. Really, Ellen, I have to go.”

Sam got into the truck and started it, but he couldn’t drive off without a backward glance. He saw Ellen and Ash in his rearview mirror, a ball of suffering made up of two people clinging to one another. Swallowing heavily, he drove off into the gathering twilight.

Despite his escalating need to rejoin his brother and their children, Sam was too well-trained to go directly to the hospital. He had Gordon’s blood on him and that had to be taken care of first. Sam made several detours along his route back, each at a different gas station or rest stop. They’d brought extra clothes with them, so at the first rest area, Sam changed out of his blood splattered garments. It was deserted, so Sam made good use of the barbeque pits. He used one to burn his jeans, which had the most blood on them, and another to burn his shirt. He was sure to scoop up the ashes and dumped those out the window, fifty miles down the road. He actually drove past St. Peter, all the way up to the Twin Cities, to dispose of his shoes, each one in a different location. All in all, it took him a couple of hours until he felt he’d adequately covered his tracks and disposed of potentially incriminating evidence.

It was full night before Sam got back to the hospital and he was a bundle of nerves, eager to see his family. He’d left his father with the clean-up without a second thought, but it was only after he’d parked the car and started walking to the building that Sam realized that he hadn’t called Dean to let him know what was going on. That thought brought Sam to a stop. Cell phone use was still iffy, since the cell phone towers brought down by the train wreck hadn’t been repaired yet, but Sam could have stopped at a pay phone along the way. True, it wouldn’t have been wise to be overheard telling his husband that he and his father had successfully killed someone, but Sam could have found a way. It bothered him that he hadn’t even thought about it.

Jaw clamped tightly shut, head throbbing in syncopation with his heart, Sam strode into the hospital. He was determined to go immediately to Dean’s room and begin to make amends for leaving his brother in the dark, but Bobby was waiting for him in the lobby. From the look on the man’s face, John Winchester had been a little more considerate about keeping the home guard in the information loop than Sam had.

“Not right now,” Sam tried to shoulder his way past the older man. “I don’t want to hear it. I just need to see Dean.”

“Hang on there a minute, Stretch,” Bobby grabbed Sam’s arm, making him come to a stop in order to avoid a scene. “We need to get a couple of things settled before you go up there.”

“I appreciate all your help, but frankly this is none of your business,” Sam stated firmly. “What happened is between me and my dad.”

“Damn straight it is,” Bobby agreed. He grinned at Sam’s nonplussed expression. “Look, Sam, I’m too smart to try and get between two Winchesters fixing to have a tussle, but you need to have your part of the story straight. Don’t forget, there’s still a friendly police officer guarding your brother’s door.”

“Oh.” Sam felt like an idiot. “What’s the plan?”

“Your dad and Ellen are taking care of things at the cabin,” Bobby informed him. “The less you know about that, the better you’ll be able to act surprised. For now, all you need to know is that you were missing Dean and the kids. You came back after helping Ellen make arrangements for Jo’s body. Your dad stayed with her because he didn’t think she should be alone.”

Sam nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”

In truth, there were little arrangements to be made. Like most hunters, Jo would be cremated rather than buried and there was a man who handled all of the hunting community’s needs. Phil knew all about salting the body before burning it and would take care of everything once he got the initial phone call. Ellen could then have a memorial service whenever and wherever she saw fit. The Minnesota authorities wouldn’t know that, though, and so the excuse of seeing to things would cover a multitude of activities.

“All right, now you go see your brother,” Bobby slapped Sam on the shoulder. 

“Does Dean know?” Sam asked. There was a small part of him that wished that they’d taken care of breaking the news to Dean.

Bobby shook his head. “He and the boys fell asleep watching a movie. Liddy and I figured that if he was tired enough to take a nap while you were on this particular hunt, then Dean really needed the rest. We didn’t wake him.”

Sam swallowed heavily. “And Liddy?”

“She’s up in the waiting room,” Bobby answered him. “We decided it’d be best to keep up appearances and stick close until official word about Gordon Walker came in.” He looked at Sam solemnly. “I’d walk mighty softly around that woman right now if I were you. She’s all twisted up in knots and I honestly don’t know if she wants to hug the stuffing out of you or put you over her knee.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Sam tried to smile as he hit the button for the elevator. “And, Bobby, thanks for everything. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

“Well, the dogs didn’t do you much good this time,” Bobby grumbled. “I found out how Walker got by them. He lobbed dead rabbits onto your property, with drugs planted on the carcasses.” He shook his head in disgust. “I’d trained the dogs not to eat anything but what I gave them, but didn’t think to teach the mangy mutts to stay away from something as juicy as that.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Sam told him. The elevator arrived and he stepped in, Bobby following right behind him. “Will they be okay?”

“The dogs? Yeah,” Bobby assured him. “The local humane society put them up while they slept it off and is lodging the whole gang until I pick them up. They’re fine.”

“You’ll send us the bill, though, right?” Sam asked. They arrived at the proper floor and both men got off.

“Not necessary,” Bobby told him.

“Yes, it is,” Sam disagreed. “Bobby, you dropped everything and came to help us out. The least we can do is help take care of the dogs.”

“No, I mean it’s really not necessary,” Bobby assured him with a grin. “Seems folks are still up in arms over what happened to Joxer. A couple of local vets donated their services. No charge.”

“Oh. Good.” Sam was a little disconcerted. He was better socialized than Dean, but still had a hard time fathoming what it truly meant to be part of a community. He didn’t dwell on it for long, though. Their steps had brought them by the waiting room and he saw his stepmother sitting there. She looked lonely and distraught. Normally, Sam would have gone to comfort her, but since he was likely the cause of her distress, didn’t know what to do.

“I’ll keep her company until John gets here,” Bobby offered. He put a hand on Sam’s back and pushed him in the direction of Dean’s room. “You go see to your family.”

“Thanks, Bobby.”

With Bobby’s gruff response still echoing in his ears, Sam made his way down the corridor to the room where Dean was. To his surprise, Tim Patterson was still seated outside. It seemed like days had gone by since Sam had left, but it had been less than six hours. Such a little time, really.

“Hey, Tim,” he greeted the policeman as he approached. “Everything okay?”

“Quiet as a church mouse,” the young man assured him. “Mrs. Winchester said that they were sleeping. We haven’t seen any trouble at all.”

“That’s good,” Sam replied. “We really appreciate all you’re doing for us.”

“That Gordon Walker character isn’t getting another chance at those kids,” Tim declared, his expression softening after a moment. “How’s Mrs. Harvelle doing?”

Sam took a deep breath. Lying didn’t come as naturally to him as it did Dean. “About like you’d think. Ellen’s tough, but she’s pretty shook up, so my dad stayed with her.” Sam smiled sheepishly. “I just had to come back. I know you guys are doing a good job and everything, but. . . .”

“But they’re your family,” Tim finished the sentence for him. “I’m sure Mrs. Harvelle understands.”

Ellen probably did, but that didn’t make Sam feel any better. He nodded at the sympathetic policemen and opened the door to his brother’s room as quietly as he could. Bobby said they’d fallen asleep watching a movie, but someone, probably Liddy, had turned the television off. A hospital room was never dark, but the lights were dim. He could see the boys vying for space on the bed closest to the door, Danny doing his usual best to end up horizontal on the mattress. Sam took a minute to straighten the child before bending to kiss each boy on the forehead.

When he turned to the other bed, Dean was awake. Sam walked over to his brother and, as he got close enough for Dean to get a good look at his face, Dean closed his eyes.

“Thank God,” Dean breathed in relief. “You got him.”

“Yeah,” Sam assured him. He bent down and kissed Dean on the lips, with the same amount of love and tenderness he’d used on their sons moments earlier. “It’s over, Dean. It’s finally over.”

Dean took a deep, shaky breath. “Tell me.”

Sam opened his mouth, but the words, literally, would not come. Suddenly, it became too much for him. Dean getting shot, the boys’ fear, Jo’s death. 

Gordon Walker crying out in pain.

“If you love me,” Sam whispered hoarsely, “you won’t ask me that tonight.”

Dean looked at him and apparently saw something in Sam’s expression that told him not to push. Without speaking, he moved over on the bed in a silent invitation. Sam’s eyes closed for a moment as he offered up a quick prayer of gratitude. Toeing off his shoes, he climbed into bed with his brother and wrapped his arms around Dean, holding the other man as close as Dean’s aggravated wounds would allow.

Gordon Walker was dead and Sam was ready to forget about the man, at least for a little while. With his brother’s warmth pressed close, he might actually be able to do it.

~to be continued in Healing part 2~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted July 24, 2007


	48. Healing - part 2

Despite his frequent complaints about chick flick moments, Dean Winchester was actually very attuned to the emotional states of his various his family members. He’d known from his first look at Sam’s face the night before that Gordon Walker was dead; had known from the second look that it had been bad. He hadn’t pressed Sam about it, though. Not only had his brother had been too fragile for that, but Dean had needed the creature comfort of Sam’s nearness without the bloody details about how their nightmare had ended. 

Last night, it had been enough to hold Sam and be held. With the daylight, however, Dean had demanded answers, only to find Sam oddly reluctant to provide any. At first, Dean thought it had been because of the boys. Sam seemed to be hiding behind their children, using their presence to keep Dean from asking too many questions. Finally, though, Bobby and Liddy had taken the boys to the cafeteria for breakfast, leaving Dean alone with his brother.

“Well, this doesn’t look so bad,” Sam commented with false cheerfulness. He slid the tray that held Dean’s breakfast a little closer to the bedridden man. “It might even be edible.”

“Sam. . . .” Dean implored. 

“Dig in before your eggs get cold,” Sam answered as he tapped on Dean’s tray, totally ignoring his brother’s implicit question. “You know you have to get your strength back if you ever want out of this hospital.”

“If you pick that fork up and start making airplane noises, I swear to God that I’ll shove it up your nose,” Dean growled. “Now tell me.”

“You don’t want to have this conversation now,” Sam responded in a normal, downright conversational tone. “Not with a police officer right outside the door.”

Dean closed his eyes in frustration. “Just tell me why Dad isn’t back. I’m worried about him.”

“He’s helping Ellen,” Sam stated.

“Yeah, right, pull the other one, Sammy,” Dean retorted. 

Sam looked away. “All right, we might have had a bit of a misunderstanding last night, so I came back early and he stayed with Ellen. She’s got a lot of. . . messy little details to attend to.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed as he considered his brother suspiciously. “What kind of misunderstanding? A ‘I say potato, you say po-tah-to’ kind of misunderstanding or a “if you go to Stanford, don’t ever come back’ kind of misunderstanding?”

He didn’t feel better when Sam swallowed heavily before answering.

“A Stanford kind,” Sam admitted.

“Damn,” Dean swore under his breath as he pushed his tray away, not in the least bit hungry. He hadn’t been to begin with. They’d put him on some heavy duty antibiotics that were kicking his ass and he’d been queasy since he’d woken up. 

“Dean, no kidding, you have to eat,” Sam persisted as he pushed the tray back towards his brother. “You do want to go home someday, don’t you?”

Dean eyed the food with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Sam had a point; he had to get his strength back if he wanted to regain his health; Dean just wasn’t sure that ingesting hospital food was the way to do it. He glanced up at his brother, trying to judge Sam’s desperation. Perhaps they could do some negotiation; eating in exchange for information.

“Don’t even think about it,” Sam chastised him. He knew Dean well enough to know what the older man was thinking. “Bargaining doesn’t change that,” He pointed towards the door and the policeman that was just beyond it.

Some of Dean’s mulishness must have shown on his face, because Sam abruptly changed tactics.

“On the other hand,” Sam stated slyly. “If you eat your eggs, one piece of toast and half of the fruit cup, I’ll wash the Impala for you.”

In spite of his frustration, Dean’s lips twitched. Sam was so damn cute when he was trying to be devious. “I dunno. There’s that new car wash down off Highway 169. I hear they do everything by hand. You washing the Impala for me’s only worth maybe two bites of eggs and half a fruit cup.”

Neither one of them had brought the oatmeal into the negotiations, both knowing it for a lost cause. Dean didn’t eat oatmeal under any circumstances, but especially not when it was as watery as the hospital version was.

“The washing of the Impala will take place completely under your direction at a time when the boys aren’t around and I’ll wear a t-shirt while I do it,” Sam countered. “Not a regular t-shirt, but a white undershirt t-shirt.” 

Dean knew exactly which shirt that Sam meant; the thin kind that was tight and became practically transparent when wet. In spite of himself, his tongue snuck out and he licked his lips. 

Sam smiled triumphantly. “That ought to be worth at least half of your eggs and the fruit cup.”

Knowing he’d lost the advantage, Dean shook his head, determined to get it back. “I don’t know, Sammy. It’s kind of late in the season for t-shirt weather. I don’t want to have to wait until next spring for my reward. No eggs; just the fruit cup.”

“There ought to be one or two more sunny days left,” Sam disagreed. He leaned forward and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Besides, it’s better if it’s a little chilly. You know what the crisp air does to me. Half your eggs and the fruit cup; that’s my final offer.”

Thinking of his brother in a wet, tight t-shirt, nipples hardened from the cool temperature, Dean knew he’d been beat. With a groan, he picked up the fork and stuck it in his eggs, shoveling in a mouthful. “Not fair to take advantage of the sick guy,” he grumbled, not caring that he was talking with his mouth full.

Sam leaned back in his chair and grinned. “With you, babe, I need every advantage I can get.”

Dean glowered at the endearment. He got that Sam loved him; he didn’t need sissy nicknames to prove it to him. It made him feel weak and useless. Since he was already tired of feeling tired, he didn’t like the reminder that Sam was having to do the brunt of the work in protecting the family.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked. Apparently he’d seen Dean’s expression and was concerned by it.

An embarrassed-sounding throat clearing kept Dean from having to answer. Startled, both brothers turned towards the door to find Sheriff Paulson standing there, looking unusually hesitant.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he said. “I saw your stepmother downstairs and she said that Dean was awake.”

“No, it’s fine,” Dean waved him in. “Come on in. You’re saving me from hospital food.”

“Do you have any news?” Sam asked quietly. If Dean didn’t know better, he would have sworn that the hope in Sam’s face was the utter truth.

“I do,” the sheriff took his hat off and held it awkwardly as he stood in front of them. “I’m afraid that not all of it’s good.” 

Dean felt Sam take his hand and, for once, didn’t begrudge the public display of affection. “Tell us.”

“I got a call in the middle of the night from Sheriff Randall of Rice county,” Paulson explained. “She’d been called to the scene of a large fire in a remote location.”

“I don’t understand,” Sam said. “What does that have to do with our situation?”

“Mrs. Harvelle was right to be worried about her friend, Ashley Johnson,” the sheriff explained. “Apparently he was found on the scene and claimed to have accidentally started the fire. . . after having killed Gordon Walker in self defense.”

“Ash?” Dean asked. “Ash wouldn’t kill anybody.”

Paulson sighed heavily. “Dean, if there’s one thing I’ve learned on this job, is that human beings are capable of remarkable things. Some of them good things and some of them, unfortunately, bad.” He gave them a sympathetic look. “Your friend told the sheriff that Gordon Walker had kidnapped and tortured him because he was an enthusiast of the paranormal.”

“Tortured?” Sam repeated. Dean felt his brother’s fingers tighten their grip on his hand.

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Sheriff Paulson confirmed. “From your friend’s statement, Walker left him to go get supplies and neglected to tie him tightly, maybe because he was hurt and Walker didn’t see him as a threat. In any case, Mr. Johnson was able to get free and got a hold of Walker’s gun, but was in no shape to get out of there. When Walker came back, there was a struggle and Johnson shot him. The fire started when Mr. Johnson stumbled into the supplies and knocked something flammable into the fireplace. He passed out for a few minutes and, when he came to, the fire was well established. In a way, he was lucky that it was. The flames and smoke drew attention, otherwise there’s no telling how long it would have taken someone to find him.”

“And Ash was able to tell you all of this?” Dean questioned. “He must not be hurt too badly, then.”

“My colleague in Rice county took a brief statement,” Paulson elaborated. “And gave me a courtesy call. The fire was eventually contained and a body removed. She did tell me that she didn’t need a coroner’s report to tell that there was a bullet hole in the corpse’s skull. Given that and the condition Mr. Johnson was in, there seems to be no reason to doubt his story. We’ll have Walker’s dental records sent from the facility he was incarcerated in back in Indiana and verify his identity, but I think it’s safe to assume that the threat to your family is over.”

“Thank God,” Sam murmured. He leaned forward and hugged Dean tightly. Even with an officer of the law a few feet away, Dean returned the embrace gladly.

“I can’t believe that bastard went after Ash too,” Dean commented when Sam let him go. “That Walker guy was just nuts.”

“That certainly seems to be the case,” Paulson nodded. “Like I said, Mr. Johnson’s statement verified that Walker was making the attacks because of supposedly supernatural connections. In fact, he even bragged to your friend about killing Ms. Harvelle and eliminating someone evil.”

“What happens now?” Sam jumped in before Dean could ask about Ash again.

“Well, we’ll leave the guard up, just in case. The Rice county medical examiner is going to put a rush on the identity confirmation, so it shouldn’t be too long before we know for absolutely sure,” Paulson went over the details. “It seems pretty certain that Mr. Johnson acted in self defense, but there’ll be an investigation, mostly to determine if there were any additional victims. Since the incident took place in Rice county, Mr. Johnson will have to keep those authorities informed of his whereabouts, but he’s already been cleared to travel to whatever medical facility is deemed best to treat his injuries.”

It hadn’t escaped Dean’s notice that Paulson had avoided his question about the torture earlier or that he was careful from mentioning details. 

“And what are his injuries?” Dean asked. Sam squeezed his hand tightly, but Dean ignored his brother, instead focusing on the sheriff and trying to will the man to tell him what he wanted to know.

“They’re pretty extensive,” Paulson admitted reluctantly. “Sheriff Randall told me that your friend had been beaten badly, resulting in multiple contusions, several broken ribs and a minor concussion. Apparently Walker shaved Mr. Johnson’s head, which was particularly bizarre and led to concerns of a sexual assault, but he seems to have been spared that.” 

“That sounds bad,” Dean stated quietly, not breaking eye contact with the man. “But not like torture.”

Paulson’s posture slumped a little. Dean didn’t have Sam’s puppy dog eyes or his father’s implacable expression, but he got his point across when it mattered.

“Gordon Walker used. . . crude implements. . . to remove all of Mr. Johnson’s toenails and several of his teeth,” the sheriff described bluntly. “It also appears that most of the bones in his left hand were broken, including all of the fingers. Mr. Johnson has been taken to the hospital in Faribault, but as I understand it, that injury is beyond their abilities. They’re going to stabilize him before sending him on to a facility better equipped to help him.” His voice gentled as he broke the last bit of news. “It’s possible that his hand might have to be amputated.”

Dean had known from Sam’s reluctance to talk that it had been bad and he thought he was prepared to hear about what had happened, but it turned out that he wasn’t. The description of what Ash had endured horrified Dean, more so because he could imagine Gordon Walker’s sane-sounding voice as he reasoned his way through inflicting the pain. Worse yet, Dean’s mind jumped to the thought of what might have been inflicted on his children, had Gordon Walker been successful. It was bad enough to think of Ash’s agile fingers being smashed, but had it been Michael or Danny. . . .

It felt like all of the air was being sucked out of the room. Dean was still staring, horrified, at Sheriff Paulson, but he could no longer hear the man’s voice. In fact, it looked like Paulson was addressing him from the end of a very long tunnel, one that was getting darker by the second. All Dean could hear was the pounding of his heart and he tasted bile at the back of his throat as his meager breakfast threatened to make a violent reappearance.

“Sam!” He flailed for his brother, trying to put all of his desperation into his voice.

Vaguely, Dean was aware of a flurry of action and Sam’s strident voice, both ordering Paulson from the room and calling for the nurses. His brother’s strong arms supported him and when Dean lost the battle over control of his stomach, a basin miraculously appeared just in time. Sam’s voice became soothing as Dean heaved. Other voices joined Sam’s and Dean soon felt a burning sensation originating in his IV. His world both steadied and became more fuzzy as the sedative that had been administered took effect.

When Dean was able to focus again, he was laying back against his bed with Sam perched on the mattress beside him. Otherwise, the room was empty and the only movement was the rhythmic stroking as Sam ran his fingers through Dean’s hair.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dean managed to ask, even though his mouth felt like it was full of cotton.

Sam’s smile was sad. “I guess I thought if I didn’t say it out loud, then it didn’t happen.”

Dean looked long and hard into Sam’s face, looking for a lie. He didn’t find one. Sam hadn’t held back because he thought Dean too weak to take it; his little brother had simply been in denial himself. 

“Try and get some rest, Dean,” Sam coaxed him. “When you wake up, Michael and Danny will be here. We can begin to get our life back on track.”

Sam’s hands in his hair felt good and the drug running through his body made it impossible to resist. Dean let himself be lulled back into sleep, trying hard not to think of how yet another person had been hurt because of Dean’s inability to protect his family.

~to be continued in Healing part 3~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted July 25, 2007


	49. Healing - part 3

Even after years of normalcy, it felt odd to be checking in at a hotel using his own name. Sam smiled a little in self-depreciation as he handed the small plastic card over; no more credit card fraud meant that he’d be paying the bill this time. He’d still picked a nice place, not wanting his boys in the sort of crappy motel that Sam’d been used to growing up.

Official confirmation about Gordon Walker’s identity had come in at dinnertime; apparently running dental records was much faster than DNA. After heartfelt thanks to the St. Peter police, the Winchesters bid a relieved farewell to their protection. The police officers had treated them well, but with their history, the family probably never would be comfortable around the law. 

With the end of the threat came the end of the need to stick close to Dean and the brothers had decided that their children had spent far too much time at a hospital. The police had finally finished up with the house as a crime scene, but Jo’s blood had soaked into the wooden surface of their kitchen floor. There was no way that Sam was taking the kids there until that ungodly mess was cleaned up. Besides, he was reluctant to go home until Dean was home too. 

Staying with John and Liddy was out of the question as far as Sam was concerned and it was a moot point anyway, since they away were helping Ellen with Ash. They had plenty of friends who no doubt would have been happy to put Sam and the kids up, but Sam still felt an imperative to hole up somewhere semi-private with his children. A hotel was his choice and he tried not to think about what that meant about how ingrained his childhood was in him, that he considered a hotel a safe haven.

Dean had slept, deeply sedated, until late afternoon. Sam hadn’t been entirely surprised by his brother’s breakdown; Dean had been pushing himself ever since the initial attack. He’d taken his medicine and done a better job of following doctor’s orders than he ever had in the past, but the underlying tension of the family being in danger had made it almost impossible for Dean to relax and heal. Dean had been mortified to have broken down that way in front of Sheriff Paulson and Sam had done his best to bolster his spirits, pointing out that the sheriff was better equipped to handle witnessing it than their boys were. Dean had just glared at him.

Between the time that Dean had finally woken up and getting the confirmation of Gordon Walker’s identity, the Winchesters had received a sobering visit from Dean’s physician. Dr. Khosla was aware of Dean’s breakdown and the way his patient had been pushing himself. In no uncertain terms, he informed them both that Dean was in danger of permanently damaging his health. The pneumonia complicated the original damage from the gunshot wound and unless Dean was careful, lung scarring could occur. Sam wasn’t sure if the warning had scared Dean or not, but it had him and he was determined that Dean take care of himself.

With a smile for the hotel clerk that was tinged with sadness, Sam accepted the hotel key card and turned to his boys. They’d stuck close and were eyeing the hotel lobby with either suspicion or curiosity, depending on the child. Each had been given the task of pulling his own suitcase and had the toy dogs that Rose had given them clutched in their arms.

“Come on guys, we’re in room 425,” Sam told them as he led the way. “The elevators are over here.”

”I don’t want to stay here,” Michael complained as he followed his father dutifully, if slowly. “I want to stay with DeeDee.”

“We explained that to you,” Sam replied patiently, hoping that he could fend off the headache lurking behind his eyes until he got his sons bedded down for the night. “The bad man is gone and isn’t coming back, so we don’t need to protect DeeDee anymore. He needs quiet to get better.”

“I can be quiet,” Michael protested. “And Danny’s real quiet right now. DeeDee needs us.”

It had been hard for Sam to leave Dean too, but the exhaustion in his brother’s face made it clear that Dean needed to concentrate on resting and getting better. The children, while helping to cheer him up and providing a distraction, also kept Dean’s protective instincts at the forefront. As hard as it was to separate the family, even temporarily, it was necessary, for everyone’s sake.

The elevator came and Sam held the door open while the boys entered. Once inside, he lifted Danny up so the four year-old could hit the right button. “Hit the 4, Danny. Our floor number is the same as how old you are. How cool is that?”

Michael scuffed his foot against the elevator floor. “If we can’t stay with DeeDee, why can’t we go home?”

Sam sighed and kept tight rein on his patience. Michael wasn’t normally so whiney or obstinate, but then it had been a rough time. He wanted to take that into consideration, but he couldn’t tell the child the truth either. 

“Our house is too dirty,” Sam explained simply. “But it’s not that bad. The hotel has a swimming pool, that’ll be fun. It’s too late to use it tonight, but we’ll go tomorrow.”

The elevator doors opened and the Winchesters walked into the corridor.

“I’d rather have DeeDee,” Michael stated grumpily.

In truth, so would Sam, but he was the grown-up and had to put a good spin on the situation.

“We’ll call him tonight before we go to bed,” Sam tried to comfort him. They’d reached their room and he opened it, stepping back to let the boys go in first. “And you can see DeeDee again tomorrow.”

“But, DaSa. . . .”

“Michael, that’s enough,” Sam said firmly to put an end to the whining. “It wasn’t your decision and, besides, we’re already here.” He relented a little as his son’s face fell. “I tell you what, why don’t you call DeeDee and tell him what room we’re in.”

Michael immediately perked up. “Okay.”

Sam had Dean’s phone number at the hospital memorized and dialed it for Michael before giving him the phone. Danny danced impatiently from foot to foot and Sam made sure that the older child held the phone in a way that his younger brother could hear too. Danny still wasn’t talking, but could at least listen.

“Hi, DeeDee,” Michael chirped into the phone. “You miss us?” Sam could just barely hear the hoarse rumble of Dean’s voice and Michael shot Sam a triumphant look. “We miss you too. We could come back. . . .”

He had to give the kid points for persistence and Sam smothered a smile. Apparently Dean supported him on the hotel issue, though, because Michael sighed deeply.

“Okay, we’ll take care of DaSa,” Michael sounded a bit forlorn. “I’m supposed to tell you that we’re staying in room 425.” He listened for a minute, scowling as Danny tugged on his arm and pointed towards the door. “And Danny wants you to know that the hotel has a swimming pool.” He shook his head, even though his father couldn’t see him. “DaSa says he’ll maybe take us tomorrow. Uh-huh, uh-huh, okay. Love you too.” Danny poked at Michael’s stomach. “So does Danny.”

Michael held the phone out to Sam. “DeeDee wants to talk to you.”

“Thanks, kiddo,” Sam ruffled his son’s hair before speaking into the phone. “Hey, babe, what’s up?”

“Besides this new, annoying habit of yours to use mushy endearments?” Pneumonia didn’t take the bite of sarcasm out of his brother’s voice. “Bobby’s here and he’s gonna head out of town. Wants to swing by the hotel to say goodbye to you and the boys.”

“Okay,” Sam replied. He didn’t know where the use of ‘babe’ was coming from either, but figured he’d go with the flow. When Dean was strong enough to kick his ass over it, then he’d stop. “We’ll keep an eye out for him. I know that the boys will be sorry to see him go.”

“You’ll call again, right?” Dean asked. “Before the boys go to bed?”

Sam smiled. The boys weren’t the only ones having a hard time with the separation. “Yeah, although you’re supposed to be sleeping too.” Then he couldn’t help adding for effect, “Babe.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll talk to you later, just. . . be careful.”

“Always,” Sam said softly before hanging up. He turned to find two bored little boys. “Okay, let’s unpack our bags.”

Michael and Danny hadn’t spent nearly as much time in hotels as Sam and Dean had when they were at the same ages. The couple of weeks since Gordon Walker had so violently re-entered their lives had resulted in more nights away from home than had gone on before, however, and it didn’t take them long to unpack. Sam didn’t want to stray from the room too far and chance missing Bobby and, besides, it was too late to take the kids to the arcade. He settled for making a short foray into the corridors, both to familiarize themselves with the layout for the place, as well as to look for the vending machines. He limited the kids to one packet of animal crackers between them, not wanting to sugar them up too much right before bedtime. The fussing about that was minimal, especially when they were allowed to also get a package of Peanut M&Ms that they could share with Dean the next day.

Shortly after Sam had the boys settled on the bed, sharing their snack and watching cartoons, a knock came at the door. A quick look through the peephole verified that it was Bobby and Sam quickly opened the door for the other hunter.

“Hey, Bobby,” he greeted the man as Bobby stepped into the room. “I hear you’re heading home.”

“Oh, I’m heading out all right, but to Nebraska, not South Dakota,” Bobby replied.

Before Sam could ask him why, the boys had bounced off the bed and engulfed Bobby in hugs. Danny could only reach as far as his thighs, but that didn’t stop him from squeezing tightly.

“How’re you rug rats doing?” Bobby asked the boys, grinning like a fool. Children, Sam had discovered, tended to bring out the tenderness in the gruffest of hunters.

“Good, Uncle Bobby.” Michael looked nervously behind the newcomer. “Where are the dogs?”

“Don’t worry, son, they’re out in the car,” Bobby reassured the kids, a shadow passing over his face. Although he understood the reasons, he took it hard that the boys were so afraid of dogs. “They’re not coming in here.”

“Uncle Bobby has to leave,” Sam told Michael and Danny. “So you need to tell him goodbye and to thank him for helping us.”

“Awww. . . can’t you stay, Uncle Bobby?” Michael pleaded. Danny nodded his head vigorously.

Bobby squatted down so he didn’t tower over the kids. “Well, here’s the deal. Miss Ellen, she’s got a lot on her mind right now. She’s mighty sad about what happened to Jo and now Ash is hurt. So she needs help, just like you did. Now that things are better for you guys, I’m going to help her, okay? That’s what friends do for each other.”

Danny sighed and patted Bobby on the shoulder, while Michael looked deeply into Bobby’s face. After a moment, the older boy’s face brightened into a wide grin.

“Yup, that’s what friends do,” Michael said with a giggle. “You took good care of us, so you’ll take good care of Miss Ellen too.”

“All right, one last hug and then you need to go brush your teeth,” Sam admonished the boys. He knew, given the choice, that they’d keep Bobby there as long as they could and Sam wanted a moment alone with the older hunter. 

“You guys be good,” Bobby warned them as he gave each boy a final hug. “I’ll be stopping back in a couple of days.”

“Love you, Uncle Bobby,” Michael answered as he and Danny took turns giving him a bear hug. “You’ll be a good friend for Miss Ellen.”

Sam watched the boys go into the bathroom and then turned to Bobby with a smile. “You and Ellen, huh?”

To Sam’s profound amusement, Bobby blushed. “She’s a fine woman, Sam, but it’s not like that. I’m not exactly the romancing type and right now wouldn’t be the proper romancing time, anyway. It’s just like I told the boys, she needs a helping hand and I got one available.” He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair before plopping it back on his head. “A couple of the other hunters have been filling in at the Roadhouse while Ellen was here. I’ll go take my turn for a couple of days, set the place up so it’ll be easier for Ash when he’s ready to come home, and then I’ll come back to help her get him there.”

Like most hunters, Bobby was an accomplished liar and, if it hadn’t been for Michael, Sam might have believed him. With his abilities, even dampened by Danny, Michael was a born matchmaker. It might not be the proper romancing time now, but no doubt it would be sometime in the future. Sam only hoped that Ellen would be receptive. Bobby was a good man and she’d be more alone than ever, with Jo gone.

“She’s lucky to have a friend like you,” Sam told him, all trace of humor gone. “Us too.” He held his hands up in a helpless gesture. “I don’t know how we can ever thank you.”

Bobby shuffled his feet. “Yeah, well, people like us have to stick together. Your dad’s pulled my fat out of the fire more than once.” His expression turned shadowed. “I just feel bad that the boys are scared of dogs. Kids shouldn’t be afraid like that, especially not when dogs’ve been a part of their whole lives up until now.”

“I’m sure when they’re a little older, they’ll understand,” Sam reassured him. His dogs were Bobby’s children and having the boys afraid of the animals distressed the hunter in a way that Sam hadn’t seen Bobby react before. “We’ll make sure of it. Joxer, and Xena too, saved their lives and none of us is likely to forget that.”

”Well, I’ll think on ways that might help with their fear,” Bobby shrugged. “Even if you and Dean don’t hunt all that much anymore, I don’t like thinking that they’re not as protected as they could be.”

“We appreciate that,” Sam assured him as he followed Bobby to the door. “And really, man, thanks for everything.”

“You just take care of those kids,” Bobby nodded at him. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

By the time Sam shut the door behind him, the boys were done with their teeth and Sam guided them into their pajamas. He didn’t forget his promise to call Dean before bedding down for the night.

“Hello?” Dean’s voice sounded as rumpled as a set of slept-in sheets and Sam knew they’d woken his brother up.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Sam greeted him, trying to ignore the two impatient youngsters that were eager to talk to their father. 

“Better,” Dean replied, too quickly for Sam’s taste. He had a feeling Dean was overstating the case, but wasn’t going to question him about it in front of their kids. 

“Good. I’ve got two little boys who want to say goodnight,” Sam relented when Danny tugged at his sleeve.

“Okay, put the monkeys on,” Dean told him and Sam could hear the smile in the other man’s voice.

“Here you go, say goodnight to DeeDee,” Sam handed the phone to Michael, again having him hold it so that Danny could hear too.

“DeeDee! We got you some candy for tomorrow and we said goodbye to Uncle Bobby.” Michael said in a rush. “He didn’t bring the dogs.” The little boy listened for a minute. “Yeah, we’re being real good. I even helped Danny brush his teeth.” He looked at his little brother. “Danny’s nodding. Okay. Good night, DeeDee, we love you.” He handed the phone back to Sam.

“Are you all settled for the night?” Sam asked.

“Yeah.” Sam could hear the rustling of sheets as the other man settled deeper into the bed. “Of course they’ll probably wake me up a couple of times just to see if I need a sleeping pill.”

“Well, if they do, just take it,” Sam instructed. “The better you rest, the better you’ll get and the sooner you can come home.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean responded. “Or should I say Stud Muffin?”

“Stud Muffin?” Sam repeated, laughing.

“If you can call me babe, I can use Stud Muffin,” Dean replied defensively. “And Sam, I love you.”

Sam swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. “Love you too,” he managed. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yeah, goodnight,” Dean replied, disconnecting the connection suddenly. Sam wasn’t offended. After all they’d been through, it was hard to sleep apart. Since Dean didn’t deal with emotions well, ending the phone call quickly was his way of dealing with it.

Hiding his sudden melancholy, Sam turned back to the kids. “Come on, guys, under the covers. It’s time to go to bed.”

“DaSa, it was DeeDee’s turn to tell a story,” Michael reminded him as he crawled into bed, stuffed dog tucked under his arm. “Should we call him back?”

Damn. Sam had left the kids briefly with Dean at the hospital when he’d gone to the house to pack. He’d been lucky to remember socks and underwear for everyone and had completely forgotten to bring a book to read. 

“No, we’re not calling DeeDee again,” Sam said firmly. Dean was probably half asleep already. 

Michael didn’t protest, but Danny’s lower lip immediately stuck out and the smaller boy seemed on the edge of tears. He brought his toy dog up and hid his face in it.

“Hey, don’t look like that,” Sam comforted him. “We’ll still have a story.” Both boys were under the covers and Sam grinned at the suddenly. “Come on, move over.”

Michael giggled and even Danny smiled as Sam crawled in between them. He settled right in the middle and soon one child was snuggled under each arm. He normally read from a book; Dean was the storyteller in the family. Sam had been watching Dean for years, however, and had a feeling he could put a new spin on a familiar, favorite tale.

“Are you going to tell us a story?” Michael asked.

“Yes, I am,” Sam replied firmly, grinning when Danny wiggled happily against him. “I’m going to tell you the story about the very brave and cool knights, Sir Dean and Sir Sam.”

”Sir Dean is cool,” Michael corrected. “Sir Sam is the geeky one.”

Sam let go of the boy long enough to tweak his nose. “That’s right. Okay, this is the story of the very brave, very cool Sir Dean and the very brave, very geeky Sir Sam.” When he wasn’t corrected again, he continued. “And their equally brave assistants, Squire Michael and Squire Daniel.”

“Is this gonna be the story about how Sir Dean and Sir Sam saved the dragon, Impala, from the evil scrap wizard?” Michael asked. Danny looked on with wide eyes.

“Nope,” Sam shook his head. “This is a totally new story. This is the one where the brave knights and squires are saved by their new friends, the battle dogs, Joxer and Xena.”

Using every piece of skill he’d learned from Dean, Sam spun the story, hoping that maybe he was helping his children with the first step towards recovering from their fear.

~to be continued in Healing part 4~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted July 25, 2007


	50. Healing - part 4

Dean was dangerously close to eating his crappy hospital breakfast when a soft noise caught his attention. He looked up from the plate of runny eggs and found his father standing in the doorway, watching him, a downright tentative look on his face.

“Dad,” Dean greeted him, gratefully pushing his breakfast away. “Didn’t expect to see you this morning.”

John Winchester shrugged as he walked into the room. “Wasn’t sure I was welcome.”

Dean groaned; he was not up to another round of fighting between Sam and their dad. It’d been years since he’d had to seriously referee between the two, but he had never forgotten the feeling of sick tension that their arguments caused.

“You’re always welcome, Dad,’ Dean stated softly. “You know that.”

His father snorted even as he sat down. “Not so sure your brother would agree with you there, son.”

“Sammy won’t talk to me about what happened. First it was because the police were still on protection duty and might overhear, then it was because of the kids.” Dean leaned forward, intense in his desire to finally know what had happened with Gordon Walker. “I figure it must be bad if Sammy won’t tell me. Dad, I gotta know what happened out there.”

John looked Dean squarely in the eyes and quietly said, “no.”

It took Dean about six seconds to go from pleading to pissed.

“Come on,” he said in disgust. “Quit treating me like I’m fragile or something. Okay, maybe I lost it a little yesterday when the sheriff told me about Ash, but I’m not a pussy. I can take it, whatever it is.”

“You lost it?” His father asked, expression becoming concerned. “What do you mean, you ‘lost it’?”

Dean backed down as it became clear that the other man had no idea what he was talking about. He kicked himself mentally for revealing something he’d just as soon John Winchester never found out. “When Sheriff Paulson explained about Ash’s injuries, I kinda got a little. . . upset.”

“That’s why they sedated you yesterday,” John commented, frowning. Even if he hadn’t been at the hospital, he’d clearly been kept informed. “I was wondering about that.”

“It was no big deal, the doctor was not happy with me anyway, about how much I was resting,” Dean shrugged it off.

“Son, you’ve had a hell of a couple of weeks,” John stated quietly. “There’s nothing you have to explain or be embarrassed about.”

“Good, I’m so relieved,” Dean replied with exaggerated relief. “Now will you stop trying to change the subject and just tell me what happened with Walker?”

“I already said no, son, and that’s not going to change,” John retorted. “And it’s not because I think you’re weak or can’t handle it.”

“Then why?” Dean couldn’t help the pleading tone that crept into his voice.

John sighed as he leaned forward, his arms resting heavily on his knees. "Dean, when you were pregnant with Michael and I almost walked away from you and your brother, you boys gave me a second chance. When I realized what I'd almost been stupid enough to throw away, I made myself some promises. One of the most important was that I'd never come between you boys ever again."

"Dad, you haven't. . . ."

"Yes, I did. It was me that drove Sammy away and he left the family for four years," John disagreed. "I don't know what was harder, not having Sam close enough to protect or seeing you struggle with missing him so bad."

Dean didn’t try to argue with him any more, mostly because his father was telling the truth. “I still don’t see what that has to do with telling me what I need to know.”

John put his hand on Dean’s arm. “You’re right, you do need to know, but Sam needs to the one to tell you.”

“Screw that, Dad.” Dean said angrily. “Cut the Hallmark crap and just tell me what happened.”

“Ash is doing better,” John stated, making no effort to soften the change of subject. “One of the suburbs up by the Twin Cities has a sports medicine center and he’s been transferred to the hospital connected to that. They’re going to wait another day or two to see if they can get the swelling down and then they’ll probably operate. His surgeon’s the same guy as takes care of the professional baseball players.”

Dean stared at his father, not blinking or backing down. “Come on, Dad, throw me a bone here.”

“We got Ellen settled in a hotel within walking distance,” John continued, ignoring Dean’s comment. “Liddy’s going to go back to work tomorrow; I’ll be splitting my time between here and there.”

The only person capable of out-stubborning John Winchester was Sam Winchester and Sam was conspicuously absent. Swallowing a growl, Dean resigned himself to his father’s silence on the subject of Gordon Walker.

“How’s Ellen doing?” Dean asked. He really did want to know, he just wanted to know about what had happened with Gordon more.

“She’s tough,” John assured him. “Right now she needs someone to fuss over and Ash sure as hell could use some TLC. They’re pulling each other through.”

Dean nodded absently. “Are the doctors still thinking they might need to. . . ?” He couldn’t make himself say the word and so just mimed a chopping motion with his hand.

“It’s too soon to tell,” John admitted. “But they’re not ruling it out yet.”

“Damn,” Dean swore softly.

“We’ll hope it doesn’t come to that, but if it does, Ash is tough and he’s got a lot of friends to help him through it,” John stated and then made another swift change of subject. “Where is your brother, anyway? Did he and the kids stay at the house last night?”

“No.” It took an effort for Dean to shake off the melancholy brought about by the thought that Ash might lose a hand. “They stayed at a hotel.” 

“A hotel?” John repeated, frowning. “Why?”

“Sheriff Paulson released our place as a crime scene, but the kitchen, well, it needs to be cleaned before the kids come near it,” Dean grimaced. “Sam and I have had a lot of experience with cleaning up after unpleasant stuff, but we’re thinking of calling in the professionals on this one. Paulson gave us the name of some cleaning service based out of Minneapolis. They’re supposed to be the experts on that kind of thing.”

“Sam and the kids could stay with Liddy,” John offered. “I’m going to be going back and forth between here and the city anyway; I could sleep at your place so I don’t offend Sam with my presence or anything.”

“Thanks, Dad, but the hotel is fine,” Dean replied. “It’s got a pool and an arcade. We figure the boys could use some down time. Besides, I should be sprung from here before long anyway.”

John nodded and stood to leave. “Just keep it in mind; the offer’s still good if you need it.”

“Dad,” Dean said as his father started walking towards the door. He waited until John turned back before continuing. “It’s going to be okay. I don’t know what went on between you and Sam, but he loves you. Whatever happened, he’ll calm down. Eventually.”

“Well, you’re closer to your brother than anybody, but you and I both know that ‘eventually’ with Sam could be until hell freezes over,” John stated. 

Dean hadn’t seen his father’s expression look that defeated since before the demon had been destroyed.

“You know, if you told me what went down with Gordon, I might be able to smooth the way with Sam a little,” Dean offered with his best charming smile.

If nothing else, at least he got his dad to grin. 

“Nice try, son,” John shook his head. “But I’m still not going to tell you.”

Dean’s smile slid off his face. “You and Sam are way too much alike, you know that?”

John actually chuckled a little. “That might possibly be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Still laughing softly, he left. Dean sighed and pushed the table holding his breakfast tray away. His dad not telling him what happened was bad; insisting that Sam needed to tell him himself was worse. Dean could only hope that his imagination was worse than reality.

He was still staring at the ceiling, thinking, when Sam and the boys came in. 

“DeeDee, we went swimming this morning,” Michael announced as soon as they got in the room. “Before breakfast.”

“I see,” Dean responded. Sam was holding an armful of McDonald’s bags. “Worked up an appetite, did you?”

Danny nodded, grinning. He’d immediately climbed up onto the bed with Dean and, at his father’s comment, pinched his nose closed and pantomimed being under water.

“It’s a good thing we brought breakfast with us,” Sam commented, looking pointedly at the tray holding Dean’s untouched food. “And that we picked up something for you too.”

“Good, it might actually be edible.” Even with the presence of his family, Dean didn’t have much of an appetite, but he could fake it. 

They made a picnic out of it, sitting around Dean’s bed and eating breakfast sandwiches. The boys regaled him with the story about their swimming outing that morning. They’d had the pool to themselves and made the most of it.

“It’s hard to play Marco Polo with somebody that don’t talk,” Michael complained. “But Danny figured something out.”

“Really?” Dean asked. He looked at Sam over the boys’ heads and caught his brother’s smile. “What?”

“Show him, Danny,” Sam encouraged.

Danny pursed his lips and whistled. It was the first voluntary sound the boy had made since Gordon Walker’s original attack.

“Wow, that’s pretty good,” Dean tried to let his pride show without overdoing it. If it weren’t for his bad leg and weak lungs, he’d be tempted to jump for joy, even if it did make him look geekier than Sam.

His youngest grinned, clearly self satisfied. Danny was still sharing the bed with Dean and Dean gave him a one-armed hug.

“I have to go the bathroom,” Michael announced after they finished.

“Okay, you know where the one down the hall is, right?” Sam asked and Michael nodded. 

“We’re not supposed to use the one in DeeDee’s room, so use that one.” 

Dean noticed Danny squirming. “You better take your little brother with you.”

“Come on, Danny,” Michael sighed. “They want to talk without us around.”

Sam looked surprised, but Dean just grinned as the boys left the room. Michael had busted them, but good. The hospital was a safe environment and, by this time, the staff all knew the Winchesters, but even so it felt weird to let the children out of their sight. Sam apparently felt the same way, because he got up and went to the door, keeping an eye on the boys as they made their way down the hall.

“How are you feeling?” Sam asked as he left the door and came back to Dean’s bed.

Dean waited until he’d received a chaste kiss from his brother. “A little less like road kill, but not up to doing the Hokey Pokey yet either.”

Sam brushed his fingers against Dean’s cheek and Dean couldn’t help but lean into the touch. 

“Your fever isn’t as high,” Sam stated. The temperature check turned into a caress. “That’s good.”

“Yeah, I’ll be out of here in no time,” Dean promised. 

“You’ll stay here as long as they tell you to,” Sam countered. “You’ve used up all of your do-overs when it comes to your health.”

There was an unusual fierceness in Sam’s voice that went beyond the standard mother-henning. Looking closely at his brother, Dean noticed how pale Sam was. There were shadows underneath Sam’s eyes that had been common back in their hunting days, but hadn’t made many appearances since the demon’s destruction.

“I’m going to be all right, Sammy, and Gordon Walker is dead.” Dean said softly. “You can stand down now.”

Sam looked away. “No, I can’t. Not yet.”

Dean sighed. “Dad came by earlier.” Sam’s head turned so fast that Dean almost expected to hear it snap. “Don’t worry, he didn’t tell me either.”

It was easy to see the relief flood Sam’s expressive eyes.

“You’re going to have to tell me some time, Sam,” Dean stated gently.

“Not here,” Sam shook his head. “When we get you home, when it’s quiet and just the two of us.”

“All right,” Dean nodded. He’d be willing to give Sam that much. “When I get home.”

Sam took a shaky breath and put his hands in his pockets. “I got a call from Dr. Walsh this morning.”

Dean frowned. He recognized the name of the child trauma specialist that Sam had told him helped take Michael’s statement about the attack. “What did she want?”

“She wanted to know how the boys were doing,” Sam explained. “And she gave me the name of a local child psychologist that has experience with children who’ve witnessed violence.”

“You think the boys should go to a shrink?” Dean asked. 

Sam shrugged. “Danny’s still not talking and Michael’s been a little aggressive. It might not be a bad idea.”

Dean wasn’t so sure. It was probably what normal parents would do, but Mikey and Danny were not normal kids. Even so, if there was one thing he’d learned about leading a more traditional life, it was that appearances had to be kept. There was always the outside chance that it would actually be beneficial for the kids too.

“Okay,” Dean agreed. “But only if the appointment’s when I can go too.” When Sam looked at him in surprise, Dean arched one eyebrow. “Come on, Sammy. If you were me, wouldn’t you want to be there?”

Sam’s smile was sad. “Yeah, I guess so.” He leaned down and kissed Dean. “You just have to do what the doctor says, so you can get better.”

The boys came back into the room, both of them giggling. Dean found himself grinning in response to their childish joy. He’d listen to his doctors, all right, but those two children were the best medicine he could possibly have.

~to be continued in Healing Part 5~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted July 25, 2007


	51. Healing - part 5

For most of his formative years, Sam had hungered for a home. He and Dean had made one together for their children, something that Sam cherished utterly. That he was reluctant to go back to it pissed him off, big time.

Sam had procrastinated, something unusual for him. He’d been splitting his time over the last couple of days between the boys and Dean and between the hotel and the hospital. All of a sudden it was Thursday and Dean was due to be released the next day. That would great, except that Sam hadn’t arranged for the kitchen floor to be dealt with yet. He called the cleaning service suggested by the sheriff’s office, only to find that they couldn’t schedule a visit until the next week. That was unacceptable. Not only had the boys spent too much time away from home, but Sam wouldn’t have Dean going straight from a hospital to a hotel; he didn’t care if it was a nicer place than they’d stayed in as children.

Once the media broke the news about Gordon Walker’s death, the Winchesters’ ‘civilian’ friends had started coming around again. No doubt more than a few of them would have been willing to risk visiting even when the family’s attacker was at large, but most had been warned off by both the police and John Winchester. It was hard to say which voice of authority had carried more weight. In any case, non-hunting friends had been visiting regularly again. Sam was careful that Dean wasn’t overtired, but also took the opportunity that the visitors offered. He hadn’t realized how much he’d come to rely on his dad, Liddy and Bobby in the time since the first attack. With extra responsible adults in the picture, Sam found he could leave the boys for short periods of time. He still didn’t trust anyone else to take his children out of the hospital, but at least a visitor could act as an able-bodied helping hand in assisting Dean with watching them. Michael and Danny were good kids, but it was hard for an injured man to ride herd on two healthy boys who were getting tired of being cooped up in a hospital.

So far, Sam had used his borrowed time mostly to run errands. His short trips consisted of dropping off graded tests to the university, making arrangements with the child psychologist, arranging for homework from Michael’s school or picking up more aspirin for the headache that just would not go away. Finally, though, the word came from Dean’s doctor that his brother would be going home soon and Sam had to deal with the mess he knew was waiting in the kitchen. When the department secretary, Rose, stopped by to visit, Sam headed out for the house. He figured that he could at least clean blood splatters off the walls and find a rug that could cover the floor long enough until the cleaning crew’s scheduled visit. He only hoped that it didn’t smell.

His concern became a moot point when Sam pulled up to their house to find three trucks outside. One he recognized as his father’s and the other two were vaguely familiar. Sam’s stomach clenched at the thought of seeing his dad and his headache spiked from dull to pounding. He got out of his SUV anyway. As he approached the house, a small group of men exited and Sam recognized them as construction guys that Dean worked with frequently.

“Hey, Sam,” Raphael Whitefeather greeted him casually. “Your dad knows his way around power tools.”

“Yeah, he’s a man of many talents,” Sam responded, tone guarded as he cut to the chase. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Raph, but what are you guys doing here?”

“Your old man called to ask if I knew anybody he could borrow a floor sander from and I told him not to insult me,” Raph stated cheerfully. “All the times Dean’s come in on short notice when another contractor didn’t bother to show, it’s the least I could do to help. Not to mention all the help he’s given me keeping my truck running.”

There was a general murmur of agreement from the other men, with an occasional ‘damn straight” thrown in. Sam smiled. He remembered a time shortly after he’d left Stanford and was traveling with Dean. Sam had insisted on detouring from their search for their father and going to help a friend whose brother had been accused of murder. At the time, Dean hadn’t really known what a friend was, but obviously had made great strides since then. Even though he was a late bloomer when it came to forming friendships, Dean had clearly made some good ones with the people he worked with. 

“Anyway, there wasn’t much to deal with,” Raph went on to explain. “Sanded the floor down and fixed the door that the cops kicked in. Not much to it.”

“Well, we appreciate it,” Sam thanked them anyway. Like Dean himself, his friends were gruff men who shrugged off the emotional stuff. “Everything’s been a bit overwhelming right now and this was one thing I wasn’t looking forward to dealing with.”

“No need for you to with us around,” Raph shrugged. “You warn Dean to be careful with those crutches of his. The kitchen floor’s slick and the last thing he needs is to slip and land on his ass.” He winked at Sam. “Wouldn’t want him to get any brain damage, since that’s where he stores his smarts.”

Sam laughed and tried not to wince when Raph slapped him on the shoulder a little too heartily. The other men chuckled and the group broke up. Raph was the last to leave, stopping at his truck and calling back to the house, where John was standing on the porch.

“Don’t forget to give your friend the check,” Raph told John. “Sounds like he’s gonna need it.”

John stood, hands in his pockets. He smiled sheepishly at Sam before responding the other man.

“Will do,” John assured the contractor. He patted the front pocket of his shirt. “I’ll see to it that he gets it this afternoon. Thanks.”

Raphael nodded. Seeing Sam’s confusion, he explained. “Like I told Dean, we put together some reward money for anyone who had information that led to capture the guy who went after Dean and the kids. We figured that killing the bastard counted, so we’re giving it to your friend.”

Sam nodded. Like most hunters, he doubted that Ash had insurance. Other hunters would chip in as much as they could, but Ash’s medical bills were likely to be astronomical. 

“Thanks, Raph,” Sam repeated. “I’m sure Ash’ll appreciate it.”

Raph snorted as he got into his truck, automatically flicking his long black braid out of the way as he sat down. ““Just tell that husband of yours to take care of himself. When I saw him at the hospital yesterday, he still looked like crap. Doesn’t speak well of white man’s medicine, if you ask me.”

“I’ll tell him,” Sam responded with a rueful grin. “I’m just not sure it’ll do any good.”

After starting up his truck, Raph retorted. “Yeah, well, just let me know if he gives you any trouble. We’ll come back out and rig up something to tie him to the bed with.” He grinned. “On second thought, maybe not. Dean’d probably enjoy that, the kinky little shit.”

With a jaunty wave, Raph drove off. Sam’s answering wave was less than enthusiastic. With Raph gone, he had to face his father. Squaring his shoulders, Sam turned towards the house. John’s hands were back in his pockets and the older Winchester looked oddly shy and sheepish.

“Your brother mentioned that the floor would need to be redone,” John said by way of an explanation. “I really did just ask to borrow a sander; didn’t expect the whole crew to come out.”

“Dean told me you’d stopped by to see him,” Sam stated. Although his anger was rising along with the ache in his head, he did his best to not sound accusatory. All he wanted at the moment was to make it crystal clear that his brother hadn’t kept their father’s visit a secret.

“I tried to pick a time when you wouldn’t be there,” John shrugged. “If I’d known you were coming home this afternoon, I would have been long gone, let Raph and the guys finish up without me.”

Sam took a deep breath, trying to will the headache away. “I don’t want what’s going on with me and you to bleed over onto Dean. Or the kids.”

His father snorted. “Don’t see how we can avoid it; you’re pretty much a package deal.”

“His whole life, Dean’s been a buffer between the two of us. He deserves better.” Sam refused to back down. “And the boys. . . you’re a big part of their life. Liddy too. Just because I don’t want to have anything to do with you doesn’t mean that you have to be cut out of their life too.”

“Sam, it doesn’t work that way,” John pointed out. “Oh, maybe in the beginning, but Dean’ll eventually feel uncomfortable being around me when you’re so obviously against it and Michael and Danny will pick up on that too.”

“Then we’ll just have to try harder,” Sam countered. His father’s stubbornness about the situation was causing his anger to rise again. His dad was reverting back to military form and insisting on calling the shots. Sam was damn tired of it. “Call when you want to come over and I’ll clear out. We’ll figure out something for the holidays.” 

“Son, I know you’re angry, but it doesn’t have to be this way,” John pleaded. “It took us a damn long time to become a family, don’t rip it apart now.”

“I’m not the one who ripped it apart, John,” Sam retorted. A small part of him rejoiced when his father flinched at the use of his first name. “You should have thought of that before you took my choice away. Before you ended things your way and not mine.”

His dad’s shoulders slumped. “I did what I thought was best, Sam. For everyone, but most especially for you.” He straightened and came down the stairs, walking past Sam on the way to his truck. He paused almost imperceptibly as he drew even with Sam, but kept on walking. “And if I had it to do over again, I would.”

As though frozen, Sam stood in place, not moving as he heard his father get into his truck and drive away. Only then did he trudge up the porch steps and into the house. He wandered through the familiar space, ending up in the kitchen. The entrance was roped off and the smell of fresh varnish permeated the house. Sam looked at the spotless wooden floor, gleaming and clean. If he hadn’t known better, Sam never would have realized that a woman had bled out on its surface mere days before. That his father, of all people, had gone to great lengths to clean it for them showed an unexpected sensitivity. Unfortunately, as far as Sam was concerned, it was a little late for that. 

Sam told himself that the moisture gathering in his eyes was only from the smell of the varnish, but Dean was right. Sam was a lousy liar.

~to be continued in Healing part 6~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted July 26, 2007


	52. Healing - part 6

Dean Winchester usually liked attention, especially if it were of the flirtatious variety. He had no intention of straying from his marriage bed, but he liked the reinforcement that he was attractive and Sam indulged him. To a certain extent, anyway. At some point, Sam would step in and get all possessive, but that was okay too. Dean liked it when his Samzilla decided to mark his territory.

Being wheeled out of the hospital, however, was a whole different deal and normally Dean would be mortified at the show of weakness. This time, though, the ride meant that he was finally going home, even if they had to make a stop first. Besides, the wheelchair was being pushed by his sons, so Dean was a contented man.

“Home, James,” Dean instructed in the best haughty tone he could manage with his cough-roughened voice.

“DeeDee, James is Danny’s middle name and it’s not my name at all,” Michael huffed as he put his weight behind the chair. Dean momentarily felt a large hand press against his back and knew that Sam was giving the boys a little help. 

“I know, it’s just a saying,” Dean replied. “All the best chauffeurs are called James, even if their name is something else. You’re just lucky it’s not Rumplestiltskin or Snagglepuss or something.”

Within moments, the whole family was in the elevator, with Sam again helping maneuver the wheelchair into the small space.

“Why are we going to the doctor anyway?” Michael asked. “I don’t feel sick and Danny doesn’t either.”

Dean let Sam field that one.

“It’s not that kind of doctor,” Sam explained. “It’s someone who talks to people who are having a rough time and helps them find ways to feel better.” 

“Oh, a shrink.” Dean stifled a chuckle at Michael’s sage tone. 

“Where did you learn that word?” Sam asked.

“Tommy Osen,” Michael replied. “He said he had to go to a shrink when his parents divorced and that a shrink is a head doctor. They don’t shrink heads, do they?”

Dean was tempted, he really was, but he truly did want his kids to get some help. Sam must have been thinking the same thing, though, because a large, warm hand wrapped around the back of Dean’s neck, squeezing gently as if to warn him not to tease.

“No, they don’t shrink heads,” Sam assured his son. “It’s just a nickname.”

“And not a very nice one, either, especially for someone trying to help you.” Dean added, blithely ignoring the fact it was a term he’d used himself when Sam brought up the idea. “It’s not as bad as poopy head, but don’t use it.”

“Okay,” Michael sighed.

Safely facing away from his son, Dean smiled. Sam’s hand on his neck loosened and he felt his brother’s thumb softly stroking the short hairs on the nape of his neck. He shivered, but not in a bad way. The gesture reminded him that they were going home. It’d be a while before Dean was up to anything more than gentle stroking, but he was looking forward to it. He’d been able to touch Sam while in the hospital, but not nearly enough, in Dean’s opinion, and he craved the contact. There was something off with Sam, maybe more than one something. Dean wasn’t good with words, but he knew his brother. Dean couldn’t help but feeling if he could get his hands on Sam, he could figure out what was going on.

The elevator door opened and Sam again surreptitiously helped the boys get the wheelchair going. Once it was started, they did a pretty good job of keeping it moving, despite Dean’s weight in relation to theirs. Sam moved forward to walk next to the chair instead of behind it.

They were rolling at a pretty good clip and had almost made it through the maze of corridors when a strange noise intruded on Dean’s awareness. It was a putt-putt-putting noise. Dean looked up at Sam, but he looked as confused as Dean was. As one, they turned around and looked at the boys. Michael was quiet, but Danny’s lips were pursed as he made sounds that were probably supposed mimic a car.

It wasn’t words, but like the whistling, was a noise. Dean exchanged a happy smile with Sam as he turned back around in his seat. They were reluctant to make a big deal out of it and cause the little boy to become self conscious.

When they made it outside, Dean stayed in the wheelchair and kept an eye on the boys while Sam went and got the SUV. A volunteer hovered close by, no doubt ready to reclaim the wheelchair as soon as Dean got up. 

The kids were playing with the automatic doors when Sam pulled up, but left off their game easily enough to clamber into the SUV. Dean was a little less graceful.

“Want your crutches?” Sam asked as he put a hand under Dean’s elbow to steady him as he transferred from the wheelchair into the vehicle.

“Nah,” Dean scoffed. “I’m just getting in this monster truck of yours, Sam.” He sighed. “Maybe when we get to the shri-. . . psychiatrist’s office.”

Sam had the gall to grin at Dean’s slip, but Dean didn’t really mind. Sam was looking a little pale and, if he had to guess, Dean would bet that his younger brother was still plagued by headaches. Once they were home, he’d get Sam to fess up.

After checking that the boys were belted in, Michael in his seat and Danny in his booster, Sam trotted around the SUV and got in himself. Dean realized as they pulled away that he’d been holding his breath. Damn, but he was glad to see the last of that place. Dean’d had enough of crappy hospital food, percussion treatments and pushy nurses to last him a lifetime. Thankfully, his lungs had improved to the point that the percussion treatments were no longer a necessity. Sam had been oddly loath to do them and with their dad afraid to come around, Dean had been worried that Sam might have to force himself to do something that clearly made him uncomfortable. Dean would still have to do some physical therapy on his leg starting the next week, but that was okay. It was only pain and Dean had long ago learned to overcome something so simple.

The vehicle was quiet as they drove, no doubt all four of them appreciating being away from the constant paging and people around at the hospital. It was a matter of minutes before they had arrived at the psychiatrist’s office. The boys were a little subdued as they got out of the SUV, waiting quiet and close as Sam got Dean’s crutches out. Once again, both boys were holding on to their stuffed dogs.

“All set?” Sam asked. He herded Dean and the kids ahead of him. “Let’s go.”

Dean hoped that any discomfort on his face could be chalked up to just getting out of the hospital. Psychiatrists made him nervous, but he didn’t want to inhibit the kids. 

When they got inside, the interior of the office was less intimidating than Dean expected. There was no dark wooden paneling or leather couches like he expected. Instead, the lobby was bright and cheerful, with colorful graphics that made it obvious that it was an office that was geared towards children. A perky young woman checked them in and the led them to a waiting area.

“Dr. Banyon’s running a little behind,” the assistant explained. “You can wait in here. The boys are welcome to play with whatever they want.”

The waiting area was another bright, cheerful room, full of blocks, puzzles and other toys. Michael and Danny looked eager to play, but glanced at their fathers first.

“Go ahead, knock yourselves out” Dean gestured towards the play area. “She said it was okay.”

With big grins, the boys went forward eagerly. Michael headed straight for the puzzles, whereas Danny was more interested in the wooden racetrack and the cars that went with it.

“Thanks,” Sam nodded at the assistant. 

“Dr. Banyon will be with you in a few minutes,” she assured them and then left the family to their own devices.

“Running behind my ass,” Dean muttered quietly. He nodded at the large mirror that took up most of the opposite wall. “What do you want to bet that’s a two way mirror.”

“Not a bet I’ll take,” Sam responded. “But it makes sense. The doctor probably just wants to observe them for a little while.”

“It’s sneaky, if you ask me,” Dean shifted, wincing as the movement pulled at the wound on his leg. 

“Hey, let’s get you off your feet,” Sam turned his mother henning on to Dean, leading him to a set of chairs set along the wall. “I’m not so sure you’re up to doing this today.”

“It’s Friday, Sam, and the doctor doesn’t work on the weekend.” Dean let himself be assisted to a seat. “I just wanted to get this over with.” He was blustering and he knew it. From the gentling of Sam’s eyes, his brother did too. “If this guy can help Mikey and Danny, I just want them to see him as soon as possible.”

After the brothers spent a few moments watching the boys play quietly, they noticed a young man come through the door in the back. The newcomer was tall, with a mop of dark hair and a lankiness that made Dean think of Sam when he was younger and hadn’t bulked up yet.

“Hello there,” the young man greeted them as he finally reached them. “Misters Winchester, I presume? I’m Dr. Mathew Banyon. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

Dean started; he’d been sure this kid was a resident or grad student assistant or something. Even though he tried to cover his surprise, Dean wasn’t quite successful and the doctor grinned. There was a good reason that Dean was uncomfortable around shrinks; they were far too adept at reading people.

“Yes, I’m old enough to be a doctor,” Dr. Banyon said affably as he sat down in the chair next to them. “I started college at the age of 16, but that shouldn’t impress you.”

“No?” Sam sounded as startled as Dean felt. 

“No,” the other man replied. “And the fact that I was a peer counselor in high school and worked with troubled kids all the time I was attending the university shouldn’t impress you either.”

“Really,” Dean didn’t know if he was starting to like the guy or if this Dr. Banyon was really, really annoying. “And what should impress us?”

Dr. Banyon stopped smiling. “The fact that I huddled under the kitchen table with my sister and watched while my father beat my mother to death with his bare hands.” He ignored the twin looks of shock on the Winchesters’ faces. “I was lucky, I was placed with my aunt and uncle after our dad went to prison, they believed in modern things like therapy. My sister was taken in by our grandparents.” His smile was bitter. “They were stoic Scandinavian stock that didn’t believe in expressing emotion. Jeannie slit her wrists in the bathroom when she was fourteen.” He leaned forward and stared earnestly into their faces, first one brother and then the other. “You can trust me when I say that I will not let that happen to another child.”

Dean sat back in his chair, impressed by the doctor’s passion. He didn’t want to think about how he would have felt had Sam done something so awful as commit suicide. “You’re right, Dr. Banyon, I am impressed.” 

“Good, that always makes things easier and, please, call me Mathrew,” the other man grinned. “From what I’ve observed, your boys are doing great, but I want to talk to them. Before I do, though, I’d like to hear what you think about how they’re doing.”

“Well, we’re concerned about the fact that Danny’s not speaking,” Sam started with the most obvious. “He hasn’t since the original attack.”

“And Mikey’s gone a little Rambo on us,” Dean explained. “Not that he’s normally a mamma’s boy or anything, but he doesn’t usually ask the sheriff to shoot anybody either.”

“I noticed that they’re both carrying stuffed animals,” the psychiatrist asked. “Is that normal behavior for them?”

“Not exactly,” Sam admitted. “But ever since their pets died, they’ve kind of clung to those, even if they’re frightened of dogs now.”

“Maybe you better tell me the whole story,” Banyon prompted. “All I know is what I’ve read in the newspapers and we all know how accurate that can be. If I’m to help your sons, I should have more details.”

Dean let Sam take care of that and instead watched his children. Danny was playing with apparent abandon, but Michael was watching them surreptitiously. The boy caught Dean looking at him and his expression grew nervous, but Dean just nodded solemnly. Michael was a Winchester, it was fitting that he be on guard, even if Dean’s heart hurt just a little at the necessity of it.

After Sam’s explanation wound down, Dr. Banyon whistled long and low. “It’s even more amazing that your boys are dealing as well as they are; they’ve been through the wringer, that’s for sure.” He got up. “I’d like to go talk to them now, if that’s all right?”

“That’s what we’re here for,” Dean shrugged. He licked his lips nervously. “Are you going to have to take them to a different room?”

The psychiatrist shook his head. “Normally, yes, but I find with children who’ve experienced the kind of trauma that Michael and Danny have do better if they can keep their parents in sight during the initial meeting. I’m not expecting any patients for the next hour, so we’ll do their first session in here. If you would, I’d like you and Sam to stay on this side of the room. That way the boys should be able to talk freely without worry of upsetting you.”

“Okay,” Dean agreed. 

That was better than he’d anticipated, since he’d fully expected the doctor to need to take the kids into a more private room. Even as he thought it, though, Dean winced. Who was more traumatized, him or the kids?

“Do you think one of you could come over and introduce me?” Dr. Banyon asked. “I’m sure they wouldn’t be too receptive of a stranger coming up and talking to them, even after seeing me chat with you.”

“I’ll do it,” Sam popped up from his chair, no doubt wanting to spare Dean the pain of hobbling across the room.

Dean watched them go. The boys left off their play willingly enough when Sam brought Dr. Banyon over. The introductions went smoothly and then Sam was making his way back to the chairs where Dean waited. He sat and they both watched the psychiatrist interact with their children.

“He seems like he knows what he’s doing,” Dean commented.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed and then grinned suddenly. “Us babyfaced guys get underestimated a lot.”

Dean snorted. “You just keep thinking you don’t look your age, Sammy. It’s been years since you’ve been carded. I wouldn’t cancel your Botox injections just yet.”

“So says the man who always tells me that I look like a student instead of a professor,” Sam teased.

“I was just trying to talk you into growing a full beard,” Dean retorted. “I’ve heard that it makes getting, um, certain attentions, more interesting.” 

Even Dean was unwilling to say ‘blow job’ in a psychiatrist’s office with his children mere yards away.

The banter was an unconscious attempt to reduce the tension, but it petered off as the psychiatrist’s conversation with their kids continued. Dean tried not to be too obvious in his observation. At first the boys were very relaxed in Dr. Banyon’s company, but Dean could see the moment that the psychiatrist brought up unpleasant topics. Both children clutched their stuffed animals and gave their fathers worried looks. It was all Dean could do not to get up and stride over there to pull both of them into his arms. His distress must have been obvious, because one of Sam’s large hands came to rest on Dean’s knee and only then did he realize it was twitching.

“They’re okay,” Sam assured him. “They’re tougher than they look.”

Dean smiled in spite of himself. “Of course they are, they’re Winchesters.” His smile slipped. “Mikey hasn’t mentioned seeing any more, you know, dead people, has he?”

Sam shook his head. “Not to me, no.”

“Maybe it was a one time thing?” Dean asked hopefully.

That sounded too good to be true, even to him. From Sam’s frown, he felt the same way. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” he commented.

The next forty-five minutes were difficult. It was hard to watch his boys when they were obviously upset, but Dr. Banyon seemed to have the situation well in hand. Whenever Danny or Michael looked too tense, he did something that seemed to ease the distressed child. It was difficult for both fathers to witness, but had the session taken place in a private office, imagining what was happening would have been even worse. Dean was grateful for small favors.

Eventually it was over and Dr. Banyon was making his way back to Sam and Dean, a big smile on his face. The boys went back to playing and the doctor sat down beside the Winchesters again.

“Okay, I’m impressed,” Dr. Banyon started before Sam or Dean could ask anything. “Those are two of the most well-adjusted kids it’s been my pleasure to interview.”

Dean felt his stomach unclench even as he questioned the other man. “What about the not talking and the Rambo act?”

“Oh, I’m not saying that they’re not having any issues dealing with what happened, but based on what I’ve seen this afternoon, I think they also have everything they need to get through it,” the doctor explained. “I can understand that Danny not speaking is disturbing, but it’s not unusual for very young children to withdraw a little after being exposed to something that’s too much for them to handle. But it’s important that Danny’s not having any difficulty expressing himself. He’s still communicating, just not with the spoken word. The developments of him whistling and making car noises are key and are an indicator that Danny’s just about ready to start talking again.” Dr. Banyon’s youthful face lit with a grin. “And something tells me that, once he gets started, you’re going to have a hard time getting him to stop.”

“I hope so,” Sam stated fervently and Dean nodded in agreement. “And what about Michael’s aggressive behavior?”

“It’s not unusual for the firstborn to have a protective nature,” Banyon told them. 

Sam snorted. “Tell me about it sometime.”

Dean glared at him. The psychiatrist looked at them in confusion, but then just shrugged and continued.

“I think that once he feels safe again, that his family is safe again, you’ll see Michael’s gentler nature come back,” Dr. Banyon assured the anxious fathers. “And something tells me that won’t take long either. I’ve been assured that the bad guy is gone and if any more bad guys come around, that DeeDee will kick their asses too and if he for some reason doesn’t, then DaSa will take care of it.”

It was Sam’s turn to glare, obviously blaming his brother for Michael’s language, and Dean blushed. “I’ll have to have a word with Mikey; we don’t talk like that at our house.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Dr. Banyon protested. “Oh, if he uses language like that at school or in front of you, of course you want to discourage him, but it’s important that the boys know that they can say anything in their sessions with me without fear of repercussion.”

“So what do we do now?” Sam asked. “How do we help them?”

“Keep doing what you’ve been doing,” the doctor instructed. “Keep the lines of communication open, let them know that you’re always available and that they can talk to you about anything. I’d also recommend getting them back into their normal routine as soon as you can. What happened to them was terrible, but it can’t be allowed to take over their lives.”

“We’re going home after this,” Dean told him. “No more hanging out in hospitals. We’re planning on sending Mikey to school on Monday and, if Danny’s talking, to his daycare.”

“Good, that’s perfect,” Dr. Banyon encouraged them. “In fact, I’d send Danny to daycare even if he’s not talking yet, although, honestly, I think he will be. You may find some more uncharacteristic behavior cropping up once they’re in those environments and start interacting with other kids, but only time will tell. If you’d like, I’d be glad to speak to Michael’s teacher this afternoon. I understand that Danny’s grandmother is involved in his daycare, so that shouldn’t be an issue.”

“Of course you can talk to Michael’s teacher, we’ll give you her name and number,” Sam responded. He looked surprised that everything was falling into place so easily.

“I was a little bit surprised to find that most of their fear stems from the initial incident, although from what you told me, they didn’t actually witness the second attack or the death of your family friend.” The young doctor continued. “The majority of what happened is beyond a child’s ability to comprehend, so most of your sons’ anxiety has been focused on the dog attack, even though it saved their lives. Still, I’ve helped kids who were actually mauled by dogs, so I think I can help Danny and Michael. It’s a good sign that they find comfort in the stuffed animals. We’ll slowly acclimate them to the idea of being around dogs. I’ve got some books and videos to recommend. I’ll email you a list later this afternoon.”

“Do you think that’s something they’ll get over?” Dean asked. 

Despite his bitching about what their shit did to the lawn, he missed the dogs. He had a feeling once they were home and it really hit them that Xena and Joxer weren’t coming back, that the boys would be inconsolable. Maybe new dogs would help, but not if Michael and Danny were terrified of them.

“It’s hard to tell,” Dr. Banyon admitted. “Certainly they’ll understand better when they get older, but even so, they might have some lingering fear.”

“That sucks,” Dean growled. He hoped Gordon Walker was roasting in hell; killing a boy’s dog was the lowest of the low.

“How long do you anticipate the boys needing therapy?” Sam asked. From his expression, it was clear what he hoped for.

“That’s totally up to you, as their parents, but I’m not anticipating them needing my help for long,” Dr. Banyon assured them. “Like I said, they’re well-adjusted boys. I’d like to see them the middle of next week, after they’ve had a couple of days back in school and daycare and see how they’re adjusting. Of course, if anything comes up before then, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Dean struggled to his feet, the hour seated in the chair had caused his wounded leg to stiffen. Sam got a hand under his elbow and helped him stand.

“You’re welcome,” Dr. Banyon replied. “It’s always a pleasure to be able to help such a tight-knit family.”

Dean waved the boys over and they came gladly. “You guys ready to go home?”

“Yeah,” Michael answered while Danny merely bounced in place.

The boys were a little subdued as the headed out to the parking lot, but Dean needed to focus on using his crutches. Getting to the SUV and inside was a little more difficult for Dean than it had been at the hospital, mainly because his body had stiffened so badly. Once they were all safely belted in and Sam had the vehicle on the road, Dean addressed his sons.

“So, how did it go?” He asked, turning awkwardly in his seat as much as the wound in his back would allow him. “Did you like the doctor?”

“Dr. Matt is nice,” Michael responded, but there was a hesitation in his voice.

“But. . . .” Dean prompted.

“He gave us homework,” Michael complained. 

Dean snorted with a distinct lack of sympathy. “He told us about that, books and movies, right? Dude, you like those things.”

“But it’s not as much fun when you have to instead of just wanting to,” Michael whined.

“Well, some of it we can work on as a family,” Sam commented. “It won’t be so bad, honest.”

From what Dean could tell, his eldest was far from convinced, but Michael’s complaining subsided. Dean winced as he turned back so he was facing the front of the SUV.

“I just hope Dr. Banyon didn’t suggest stuff like ‘Old Yeller’ or ‘Where the Red Fern Grows,’” Dean muttered. “Those made you cry like a baby, every time you had to read or watch ‘em.”

It had been a mixed blessing. Moving around as much as they had, the Winchesters often found overlap in the various school systems they attended. Dean crowed with victory every time he was assigned a book he’d already written a report on; it was far less work that way. Sam, being the geek that he was, was usually disappointed, since he liked reading new things. Being tenderhearted, Sam also had a hard time with books where animals were hurt or died and, unfortunately, those tended to be assigned a lot. Dean couldn’t figure out why. He thought teachers were supposed to like kids instead of torture them.

“I did not,” Sam protested, even though Dean, for a change, wasn’t exaggerating. “You’re making that up.”

“Cry me a river, Sammy, ‘cause I know better,” Dean cheerfully replied. “You were a girl when it came to that kind of stuff.”

During the middle of the day, there wasn’t much traffic and it didn’t take them long to reach the house. This homecoming was different than the first time Dean was released from the hospital. For one thing, there was no caravan of vehicles. Their father and Liddy were busy helping Ellen and Ash, so it was just Dean, Sam and their children. Another difference was that there was no one waiting for them. Bobby and the dogs were long gone. That, at least, made the boys happy.

“DaSa, can we play outside?” Michael begged as they pulled up to the house.

“Sure,” Sam responded. “Just don’t leave the yard.”

Dean grinned as the boys unbuckled themselves and ran out of the vehicle. Michael whooped loudly and Danny giggled. A game of tag was immediately initiated, the perfect way for two boys who’d been cooped up far too long to let off some steam.

“Man, I wish I had that much energy,” Dean commented.

“You will,” Sam assured him. “You’re getting better every day.”

They watched as the boys chased each across the yard, the game changing to somehow involve scooping up leaves and tossing them at each other. 

“I dunno, Sammy,” Dean replied doubtfully. “I don’t think I ever had that much energy. I know for a fact that I was never that squirrelly.” He paused for a moment. “You were, though. Totally. Like the Energizer Bunny on speed, man.”

Sam snorted, but didn’t bother to argue. Instead, he dropped his arm across Dean’s shoulders and pulled him in for a quick kiss. “You get yourself inside; I’ll grab the bags.”

Dean glowered, ready to protest about being babied, when he realized the result was being excused from a chore. His protest died unuttered and he made his awkward way out of the SUV. Hopping to the back of the vehicle, he grabbed his crutches from Sam and hobbled up the drive and onto the porch.

The house seemed unnaturally still as Dean unlocked the door, infused with that dead feeling that buildings got when they’d been unoccupied for several days. He made his way inside, leaving it open for Sam. He stood in the middle of the room, letting the sense of home settle in. Vaguely, Dean was aware of Sam dropping off the first set of bags before heading back to the SUV for a second load.

Whether he wanted to or not, Dean felt himself compelled towards the kitchen. The room where Jo Harvelle died was the last place Dean wanted to go, but his body seemed to move of its own accord.

The smell reached him first, the sharp, acrid scent of fresh varnish tickling his nose. The room itself was bright, the afternoon sunshine coming in through the windows and shining off the newly refurbished floor. The kitchen was one of the most well-used rooms in the house, being not only where the family ate their meals, but also where they tended to gather to do homework, finger painting or other family activities.

It looked cleaner than it had in years, with no sign of the life and death struggle that had taken place there just days before. Dean hobbled over to the spot where Jo had died. He couldn’t tell that anything untoward had happened there and Dean didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. Someone had died on his kitchen floor during an effort to save his family. It seemed like there should be some sort of sign of her passing.

He startled when large hands came from behind to wrap around his waist. Sam pulled Dean gently back into his warmth, one hand dropping to rest over Dean’s belly, where the scar from the demon was hidden behind the fabric of his clothes.

“Dad said that he snuck salt into the sanding mixture,” Dean said after a few heartbeats of silence. His father hadn’t come by the hospital to visit again, but had kept in touch with Dean by phone. “And blessed the rinse water before they used it. Jo shouldn’t. . . shouldn’t be sticking around.”

“There’s more than one kind of haunting, Dean,” Sam stated quietly, resting his chin on Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean leaned back into his brother’s sturdy body. He always appreciated how strong Sam was, but never so much as when he himself wasn’t at 100%.

“A Winchester always pays his debts,” Dean commented. “How the hell are we supposed to repay this one?”

Sam was quiet for a moment before offering an explanation. “From what you told me about Jo and her baby, maybe she was the one who needed to settle a debt.”

Dean thought about it. “Maybe.” 

“We’ll get through this,” Sam assured him, rubbing Dean’s belly. “If a demon couldn’t destroy us, a puny human like Gordon Walker doesn’t stand a chance, especially now that he’s dead.”

“He came close enough,” Dean argued. He shuddered when he thought of how narrow the margin had been in keeping the crazy hunter from hurting their kids.

“Close only counts in horseshoes and nuclear war,” Sam teased. He nodded towards the window. Michael and Danny could still be seen laughing and playing. 

Dean nodded, distracted. Sam mentioning Gordon Walker and the fact that the man was dead brought up another issue.

“I’ll give you until Monday,” Dean warned his brother. Behind him, he felt Sam tense. “We need this weekend, to get back to normal. But come Monday, when Mikey’s at school and Danny’s at daycare, me and you are gonna have a talk.”

Sam’s sigh blew warm breath across Dean’s neck and he shivered again. 

“Monday,” Sam agreed.

It was a victory of sorts, Sam’s agreement, but an empty one. Dean wanted to know what had happened with Gordon, needed to know, but he knew it wouldn’t be a pleasant revelation. Trying to put the dread aside, he turned his attention back to his kids, who were as joyful as though their lives hadn’t been in danger just days before. There was a lesson there, Dean was sure, but he was too tired to learn. Instead, he just leaned into his brother and soaked in the warmth.

Monday would come soon enough.

~to be continued in Healing – part 7~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted July 24, 2007


	53. Healing - part 7

The weekend was one of the best gifts Dean had given Sam in a long time. He still felt that his actions towards Gordon Walker were justified and remained angry at his father for not letting him finish as he wanted. Feeling that way and convincing Dean that he was right, though, were two different issues. Sam was pretty sure that his brother would have a very different opinion on what had transpired; Dean never did like for Sam to get his hands dirty.

The rest of Friday was a bust, as far as getting anything productive done. Sam barely got their various bags unpacked and the laundry separated. After living out of hotels and hospitals on and off, it had really piled up. Their washing machine would be getting a work-out, but it could wait until the next day. Dean watched the kids, but was unaware that Sam had pulled the boys aside; the watching would be mutual as he enlisted Michael and Danny’s aid in making sure that Dean didn’t overdo it.

Dinner was pizza ordered in and Sam was relieved to see Dean eating more than he had at the hospital. The meal was also uninterrupted. No one had phoned or dropped in to visit, which Sam was grateful for. It gave them time to remember how to feel comfortable in their own home. The boys pretty much adjusted right away; it was the adults who were having a problem. As the afternoon wore on, however, and no crazed hunter showed up to menace them, Sam noticed the tension begin to ease in Dean. It was a start, anyway.

Bedtime was a challenge. It’d been close to two weeks since the boys had slept in their own beds and they’d gotten used to having other people around. 

“Come on, DaSa, we can stay up for one more story,” Michael begged after Dean had told one story and Sam read another. “DeeDee hasn’t heard the story about the battle dogs yet.”

“Battle dogs?” Dean asked, one eyebrow lifted. “Do tell.”

Sam blushed, oddly reluctant to tell the story with Dean, the master storyteller, in attendance. “Maybe tomorrow night. It’s already getting late. C’mon, Michael, let’s get you into your own bed.”

Moving reluctantly, Michael allowed himself to be coaxed from his brother’s room. Sam left Dean to tuck Danny in and he did the same for their older boy. They left both bedroom doors open, with the baby monitor positioned on the hall table in between.

“We’ll be able to hear you, even downstairs,” Dean assured the anxious children. “Now, goodnight.”

Michael’s responding goodnight sounded unhappy, but Sam hardened his resolve. Dr. Banyon had indicated that it was important to get the boys into a normal routine as soon as possible. Sam didn’t like it much at the moment, but they had to start sometime and it would only get harder the longer they waited. Dean followed him, equally reluctant, and when they got to the foot of the stairs, the two fathers looked at each other. Sam wondered if his expression was as lost-looking as Dean’s.

“Come here,” Sam said firmly, taking Dean’s hand. He led his brother over to the couch and grinned. “I’ve been wanting to do this all day.”

Dean watched with a faint smile as Sam toed his shoes off, following suit at Sam’s gesture. Sam settled himself on the couch, stretching his long body out on the oversized piece of furniture. He encouraged Dean on top of him, positioning him with his back pressed to Sam’s front, their legs tangled together. The baby monitor was perched on the coffee table next to them.

“This is nice,” Dean commented, sighing in contentment.

“Mmmmmm. . . .” Sam murmured, nuzzling into Dean’s hair. 

They didn’t turn the TV on, not wanting the noise. Instead they just lay together, soaking up each other’s presence. To Sam’s surprise, Dean remained a little bit tense.

“Something wrong?” Sam finally asked.

Dean held up a hand. “Wait for it.”

Seeing his brother’s head cock as though he were listening for something, Sam did the same. Sure enough, only a few moments had passed before he heard a slight thump overhead and then the muffled pitter patter of small feet. Danny, at least, wasn’t staying in bed. From the baby monitor in the hallway and what they could hear on their own, they could tell that the four year-old had joined his brother in Michael’s room. 

Sam chuckled as he remembered the many times in his childhood that he’d done the same with Dean when he’d been scared or needed comfort. “I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. You think we should make him move?”

“Nah,” Dean shook his head as he fully relaxed into Sam’s embrace. “Let’s ease them into this routine thing a little bit.”

Despite their concerns, Michael and Danny had a restful night, undisturbed by nightmares. The same wasn’t true for their fathers. It wasn’t that Sam was plagued by bad dreams, but that he felt the need to constantly check on the kids. He tried to slip out of bed unnoticed, but it was hard not to wake Dean when his brother was wrapped around him like a blanket. Finally after the third trip, Dean sighed and got up himself. He limped into the hallway and moved the baby monitor into Michael’s room instead of outside it. After that, they could hear their sons’ breathing through the device and it served as a lullaby.

Saturday dawned bright and beautiful, one of those crisp mornings that made autumn such a popular season. Figuring that their friends would descend on them for visits now that the Winchesters were home, they spent the morning in the grocery store. After Dean’s latest hospital stay, their cupboards were bare. The trip took longer than it should have. Not only was the store busy, but people kept stopping them and saying how thankful they were that the family was safe. Dean tried to cover his reaction, especially to being praised for so fiercely protecting his children, but Sam could tell that the attention made his brother uncomfortable. He felt a little bad about that, but not enough to try and put a stop to it. Dean was a good man and Sam felt it was past time that his sibling got some recognition for it.

After lunch, Sam’s expectation that they would have visitors was proven correct. The doorbell ringing didn’t surprise him, but the identity of the first people who’d arrived did.

“Hey, Dr. Winchester,” he was greeted when he opened the door. 

It was a group of Sam’s students and he was absolutely floored to see them there. Not that they’d found the house, St. Peter was a relatively small town and the Winchesters hadn’t gone to any length to hide their address, but just that the students were there in the first place.

“Hi, guys,” Sam responded. He scratched at the back of his neck self-consciously. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but what are you doing here?”

Donny Idle, one of Sam’s better students from his advanced anthropology courses, stepped forward. “We figured with everything going on, you probably hadn’t had any time to start getting your yard ready for winter.”

“We felt so bad about everything that happened and wanted to help, but didn’t know how,” a girl named Joanna added. “But Mark’s mother said that you probably hadn’t had a chance to do any chores, so that’s what we’re here to do.”

Sam looked at their earnest faces and felt a swelling of pride. They weren’t his kids in the truest sense of the word, but he’d like to think he’d made some small contribution to their thoughtfulness.

“You do know that I’ve already handed in your grades, right?” He teased.

There were grins and chuckles at that. 

“Yeah, we know,” Mark assured him. The rest of the group laughed.

“Well, in that case, let me show you where we keep the rakes.”

The students had brought some of their own, but Sam still took them out to the shed and showed them the rest of the equipment. With a little spring in his step, he went back to the house.

“What was that all about?” Dean asked. He had been finishing drying the dishes, handing them off to Michael and Danny to put away.

“Oh, just a few of my dedicated and compassionate pupils,” Sam replied airily. “Come to do some yard work for us.”

“Huh.” Dean limped over to the kitchen window and looked out. “Sammy, you’ve been holding out on me.”

Sam didn’t quite follow. “What do you mean?”

Dean turned from watching the college kids, grinning. “You should have told me that your students were available for manual labor. We could have been having them do the scut work around here years ago.”

“They’re just trying to be nice, Dean,” Sam cautioned.

“You didn’t tell them that you turned the grades in, did you?” Dean asked.

Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes, I did.”

“Man, we could have milked this for a week or more,” Dean complained, but Sam could see the twinkle in the other man’s eye.

Even as he grinned, Sam rolled his eyes. Here he’d been a little worried that Dean would be offended that the college kids wanted to help out and instead his brother was trying to figure out more ways to use them.

“Can we go help?” Michael asked, tugging at Sam’s shirt.

Sam looked at Dean and, seeing the agreement in his brother’s eyes, nodded his head. “Sure. Just stay clear of anyone using the leaf blower or the lawn mower.”

“Okay,” Michael agreed. He and Danny eagerly tromped towards the door.

“Jackets,” Dean barked. “It’s a little nippy.”

It was a sign of how eager the boys were that they didn’t protest. Sam almost felt sorry for the college students. He didn’t know how many of them were used to little kids, but they were about to have two whirlwinds unleashed on them. As it turned out, he shouldn’t have worried. The university students were young enough that they were almost kids themselves and were good-natured about absorbing two mascots into their group. Michael and Danny got plenty of attention and a whole group of semi-adults who were more than happy to play with them.

Several times throughout the afternoon, Sam caught Dean looking wistfully out the window. It made him sad because Sam knew that Dean would love to be outside and roughhousing with the kids, but his injuries made it impossible. For that reason, Sam mostly stayed inside too. He didn’t want Dean to feel too isolated and, besides, the college students weren’t the only ones to drop by. A couple of friends and neighbors made appearances. Although he seemed happy to see them, Dean’s energy soon flagged, despite the casserole dishes and other goodies they brought with them. 

In between visitors, Sam shooed Dean off to take a nap and was mildly alarmed when his brother went without too much grumbling. After the last visitor left, Sam went upstairs to check on his wounded husband. Dean was laying on his stomach, seemingly asleep. With the sound of the kids, their own and the college students, laughing and playing outside, Sam stretched out next to him.

“I’m awake,” Dean’s voice sounded groggy, so Sam knew he hadn’t been awake long.

“How are you doing?” Sam asked. He reached out and started rubbing circles on Dean’s back, needing the contact as much as Dean needed the comfort.

“I feel like Mothra after going five rounds with Godzilla,” Dean explained. He turned his head on the pillow so that he was looking at Sam.

“That good, huh?” Sam commented. When Dean just grunted, he changed the subject. “Say, I’m going to order pizza for the whole gang. It’s the least we can do since they cleaned the yard and entertained the boys all afternoon.” When Dean grumbled about the horde eating them out of house and home, Sam suggested an alternative. “Between what Mrs. Murphy brought today and what we froze from before, we’ve got plenty of Tater Tot Hot Dish that we could serve them instead.”

Dean’s head came up off the pillow. “Oh, Hell, no. Bite your tongue, Sam.”

Sam snickered, but then kissed Dean in a quick apology. It was no fair baiting him when he wasn’t feeling 100%. “Pizza it is, then.”

‘Assisting’ the college kids with the chores had worn the boys out, so bedtime was a lot easier than it had been the night before. Sam had to keep his promise about telling the battle dog story, but Dean was kind and didn’t tease him about it. In fact, after they’d successfully put each boy in his own bed for the night, Dean had actually praised him.

“That was a good idea,” Dean said. “Putting the dogs into a story like that. It’ll help remind them of how brave Xena and Joxer were.”

Sam nodded. “That was the idea.” He sighed. “A woman from the county’s canine unit called this afternoon while you were sleeping. They want to come out and talk to us about having some sort of ceremony for the dogs.”

Dean thought about it for a minute. “Might be a little soon for that.”

“That’s what I told her,” Sam agreed. “She said she’d call back next week.”

Danny managed to make it through the night in his own bed, but that actually made it harder on the fathers. Sam, always a light sleeper, started at the slightest sound and even Dean was restless. The baby monitor was back in the hallway and that just wasn’t enough for either father’s peace of mind.

“Tomorrow, lets get another monitor,” Dean suggested as Sam crawled into bed after yet another check on the boys. “That way there can be one in each room. It’d be worth it just to sleep better.”

“Okay,” Sam agreed. He pulled Dean closer and wrapped himself around him. “Now try to get some sleep.”

“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you,” Dean commented sarcastically. His fingers, though, as he stroked Sam’s forehead were gentle. “How’s your head been today? Any headaches?”

Sam had to think about it for a minute. “No. Actually, my head’s been fine today.”

“See?” Dean responded smugly. “Being home’s good for you.”

Having no grounds to, Sam didn’t argue with that. Instead, he just snuggled closer to Dean and, surprisingly, slept the rest of the night.

It was tempting to skip church the next morning, but they’d missed two Sundays already and Dr. Banyon’s advice about returning to routine inspired Sam to get out of bed. He tried his best to make it like any other Sunday. The only thing that Sam did differently was to not wake Dean. Despite defeating the demon, Dean had yet to reconcile himself with God and the only time he’d been to church in years was to get married. Normally he did chores while Sam and the kids were gone, not wanting to appear that he was skipping church just because he was lazy. After Sam and the kids got back, the family would have a big breakfast together. 

Getting two sleepy boys up and going was a challenge, but Sam was a Winchester and didn't give up easily. Unfortunately, so were his kids. Sam tried not to raise his voice, but it was hard when his sons weren’t cooperating. He finally had them dressed and their hair combed, only running a couple of a minutes late.

“Wait a minute, Sam.”

Sam looked up to find Dean hobbling down the stairs, leaning on the banister heavily to support his weight. His brother was wearing a crisp pair of khakis and a dark red button down shirt.

“DeeDee, are you going to church with us?” Michael asked. Danny’s eyes were wide with surprise.

“Yup, I certainly am,” Dean told him. He glanced at Sam from underneath his lashes. “I have a lot to be thankful for.”

“You can do that anywhere,” Sam replied. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Dean to go to church, he just wanted to make sure his brother was going for the right reasons. “God hears everything.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean answered. “It just seems kind of like slacking not to do it right at the horse’s mouth. So to speak.”

Sam let his smile break free. “Well, we’re glad to have you. Welcome aboard.”

‘Glad’ was an understatement. Michael and Danny hung on Dean’s crutches, telling anyone they came across that this was their DeeDee. 

“I feel like they brought me to show and tell,” Dean muttered under his breath to Sam.

Sam laughed softly. “Come on, they’re just proud to show you off.”

“Hello, Sam, I was so glad to hear that your family’s okay,” the minister approached them, not noticing Dean at first.”

“Pastor Marion, did you see our DeeDee was here?” Michael told her, tugging on Dean’s crutch.

“Mikey, calm down,” Dean’s smile was a little ragged around the edges.

“Dean, it’s so good to see you again,” Marion Smythe was the minister at the non-denominational church that Sam and Dean had been married in. Other than the wedding, she’d only seen Dean at picnics and the like, but she was far too wise to point that out. “We’ve been praying for you, for the whole family.”

If anything, Dean looked more uncomfortable. “Uh, thanks. That was a real nice sermon you preached.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. ‘Love thy neighbor’ is an oldie but a goodie,” her eyes sparkled. “I’m a firm believer in the classics.”

“Me too,” Dean relaxed a little. Sam didn’t bother to tell the minister that Dean probably was referring to music, just glad that his brother had unbent enough to sit through a whole service.

It took a little doing to extricate themselves from well-wishers and Sam eventually just herded his family towards the SUV. Dean clumped along, ungainly on his crutches and trying very hard not to look at anyone. Sam had enjoyed hearing his brother singing along with the hymns, but didn’t dare comment on it. Dean was self-conscious enough about his church visit the way it was.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Sam stated as he started up the SUV. “I’m hungry.”

Sunday morning breakfast was a big deal at the Winchester house, with each member of the family having an assigned task. The boys set the table, Dean cooked the meat and Sam flipped the pancakes. They also took the pancake ingredients seriously and, thanks to their trip to the grocery the day before, had several bowls of options at hand.

“Okay, what kind of ‘cakes does everybody want?” Sam asked, tossing the spatula in his hand. “We got blueberries, strawberries, bananas. . . . “

“Got any prunes?” Dean asked. “I think I know a couple of boys who’d like prune pancakes.”

“Chocolate!” Came the firm reply, uttered in a child’s piping voice. “I want chocolate.”

Both Winchester men turned from their tasks. That hadn’t been Michael talking.

“Danny, what did you say?” Dean asked, not sure that he’d heard right.

Danny’s face screwed up with exasperation as he obviously thought he was being corrected for his manners. “I want chocolate. . . . please?”

Sam grinned so wide that he thought his cheeks would split. His eyes met Dean’s over their son’s head and they shared a look of profound relief.

“Sammy, I believe the man said he wanted chocolate chips in his pancakes,” Dean stated as he reached over to ruffle Danny’s hair.

“Okay, chocolate it is.” Sam knew they probably shouldn’t focus too much attention on the fact that their son was speaking again, but he couldn’t help it. He picked Danny up and squeezed him tight, causing the child to squeak. After a quick kiss to Danny’s cheek, he put his youngest down. “Michael, what do you want?”

“Blueberry, please.”

Just to keep things even, Sam picked Michael up quickly too, kissing him loud and sloppy on the cheek before putting him down.

“DaSa, you’re weird,” Michael told him solemnly.

“That’s what DeeDee’s been saying for years,” Sam responded happily.

Although he was speaking again, Danny wasn’t a nonstop chatterbox. Sam tried his best not to push the little boy, not wanting to cause him to retreat back into silence. Breakfast, though, was a happy affair and Sam caught himself humming as he flipped pancakes.

After Danny’s breakthrough, the rest of the day was almost anticlimactic, but that was okay by Sam. He reveled in the normalcy, knowing that the next day was Monday and he wouldn’t be able to put off his discussion with Dean any longer. They did chores and puttered around the house. Dean wasn’t up to doing to much physical stuff, but he did sit down with Michael and go over the boy’s homework with him. 

“So you’re looking forward to going back to school, huh?” Dean asked as they finished up. “You’ve probably missed your friends.”

“Yeah,” Michael shrugged as he loaded up his book bag. “But I like learning stuff too. Except for math, math stinks.”

The brothers exchanged amused glances.

“You’re just like your DaSa,” Dean commented. “Give him a book or a map and he was happy, but numbers drove him crazy.”

“I don’t know why we have to learn fractions or decimals anyway,” Michael lamented. “That’s what calculators are for.”

Dean snorted and ruffled his son’s hair. “When I’m on the third story of an unfinished building and I need to figure out how much wire I need to finish the job, I can’t exactly depend on having a calculator with me.”

“And when I’m doing grades using a spreadsheet,” Sam chimed in, “I have to know enough to be able to tell if the formula’s wrong. Otherwise, someone could end up with a C when they deserve an A.”

Michael didn’t look entirely convinced, but didn’t protest further. Sam turned his attention onto their youngest. Not wanting to be left out, Danny had been seated at the table with his father and brother. At first he’d been happy to scribble in a notepad, pretending to do homework. Eventually, though, he’d started tinkering with his Legos.

“What are you building, Danny?” Sam asked him.

“A car,” Danny held it up for Sam’s inspection. 

“Looks good,” Sam praised. Actually, it did look like a car. Like his older father, Danny was good at building things.

“Why don’t we call Liddy ‘Grandma?’” Danny asked out of the blue.

Dean and Sam looked at each other, equally stunned expressions on their faces. Apparently their little boy had been doing a lot of thinking while he wasn’t speaking.

“I dunno,” Dean answered carefully. “I suppose because she wasn’t married to your grandpa when we met her. She didn’t become part of the family until a couple of years ago and you guys were just used to calling her Liddy.”

Sam sat next to the child, who was busy rolling his make-shift car back and forth on the table. Michael was watching his parents avidly, clearly as interested as his little brother in the answer.

“Why do you ask?” Sam questioned.

Danny shrugged and it was up to Michael to provide the answer.

“When we talked to Dr. Matt, he kept calling her our grandma,” he explained.

“Oh.” Dean was oddly hesitant. “Would you like to call her Grandma?”

Danny looked up and nodded his head. “Uh-huh. Lots of kids have grandmas, two of them, and two grandpas too. We’ve got just the one grandpa and no grandma at all.”

Sam made himself stay silent. Although Dean adored Liddy, he’d never been able to make himself call her ‘mom’ or any variation of ‘mother.’ From his expression, his brother was feeling a little guilty at having inadvertently deprived his kids of having a grandmother. Of course, Liddy had been filling that role even before she’d married John, even if that wasn’t what the boys called her. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Well, if you’d like to call Liddy ‘Grandma’ instead, I don’t think she’d mind.”

“Maybe we should ask her?” Michael suggested.

“Nope,” Dean shook his head. “Next time you see her, just say ‘Grandma,’ I think she’ll love it.” He nudged his son. “She might even kiss you and hug you, in front of everybody.”

“I like Liddy’s kisses,” Danny stated, picking up his toy and following his brother out of the room. “I mean, Grandma’s kisses.”

Dean waited until the boys were gone and then sighed explosively. “This fatherhood gig, it should come with an instruction manual or something. Just when I think I’ve got most things figured out, they come up with something I didn’t expect.”

“For the record, you do fine,” Sam assured him. “You had me to practice on, when we were growing up.”

His comment got him a grin. “That’s right, and you were a pain in the ass too. Mikey and Danny are easy in comparison. So far, anyway. We haven’t gotten to the teen years yet.”

Sam shuddered, remembering his own angst-ridden, melodramatic adolescence. “Don’t remind me.”

There’d been no group of friendly college students to wear the boys out during the day, so bedtime wasn’t as easy as it had been the night before. Michael and Danny ended up in the same room, but neither Dean nor Sam had the heart to separate them. The baby monitor insured that Dean got a good night sleep. He snored softly, curled against Sam’s chest. Sam was wide awake and he lay carding lazy fingers through his brother’s hair, thankful that Dean was doing so much better. 

At least one of them could sleep.

Sam had clung to every hour of the day, knowing that Monday and his talk with Dean was soon approaching. Sam wasn’t sure what to expect. He knew that Dean would love him, no matter what, but other than that, wasn’t sure how the older hunter would react to hearing the details of what had happened with Gordon Walker. Knowing Dean, he’d somehow make it out to be his fault and Sam didn’t want that. Dean had shouldered enough burdens along the way.

He must have drifted off at some point, because the alarm woke him. Sam leaned across Dean to turn it off, the motion causing his brother to stir.

“Why don’t you stay in bed?” Sam suggested. Dean’s eyes were bleary, despite the good night’s sleep he’d had.

“You’re gonna need all the help you can get,” Dean yawned. “This is the first early morning for the boys in two weeks.”

“But they want to go,” Sam pointed out. “They were excited about going to school and day care last night.”

“That was last night,” Dean countered. He stretched and winced as the movement pulled at his healing wounds. Sam flinched in sympathy. “This morning, if given a choice between staying snuggled in bed and getting up, I’m guessing they’ll want to stay in bed. The little heathens got my gene for sleeping. Unlike you — did you get any sleep last night?

“A little,” Sam admitted.

Dean frowned. “Headache?

“No, just too wound up,” Sam replied. “Just thinking about everything we have to get done.”

“Well, maybe we can take a nap later, after the boys are gone,” Dean suggested. His smile was full of promise. “That’s always been the thing I like about these school breaks of yours. . . long, lazy afternoons.”

“Just remember what the doctor said about not exerting yourself,” Sam cautioned. “Your lungs are better, but you can’t push it too hard or you might have a relapse.”

“It’ll be okay, Sammy,” Dean said with a grin. “I plan on letting you do all the work.”

Dean was right, it did take a lot of effort to get Michael and Danny up and going. The fathers didn’t need to remember Dr. Banyon’s advice; they both knew it was past time that their boys get back into a routine. Eventually, Dean had the boys downstairs and was feeding them breakfast, while Sam took a quick shower. He’d be the one dropping the boys off and had to look a little more presentable than his brother.

Still damp, Sam jogged down the stairs, but something made him stop just outside the kitchen. He was glad he did.

“DeeDee, is DaSa mad at us?” 

Danny’s forlorn question stopped Sam in his tracks. He realized he was holding his breath as he waited for Dean to answer.

“Of course he’s not mad at you,” Dean was quick to reassure the child. “What would make you think he was?”

“His face is wrinkly all the time,” Danny said. 

“Your DaSa’s just had a lot to worry about, that’s all,” Dean replied.

“He’s mad at Grandpa, though.” Michael’s voice sounded older than an eight year-old’s ought to.

There was silence and Sam could imagine his brother was trying to come up with a response that didn’t involve directly lying to their children.

“Yeah, he is,” Dean surprised Sam by going with the simple truth.

“Why?” The straightforward question was from Danny.

“I don’t really know,” Dean admitted. “But I’m going to find out, you can count on that.”

“Will you fix it?” Michael sounded so sad that Sam’s heart twisted.

Sam heard the rustle of movement and could only hope his brother was giving both kids a big hug.

“You can count on that too,” Dean’s voice sounded sure. “What you don’t know is that your DaSa and grandpa used to argue all the time. . . and remember what we told you? People can be mad at each other and argue, but they still love each other.”

“I remember,” Michael said.

It had been Sam and Dean’s first, and only, blow-out. One rainy night, Alex Krychek had showed up, demanding to know where the fertility idol was. Dean, surprisingly, had wanted to tell him. Despite sharing some of his father’s distrust of the man, something in Krychek’s desperation touched Dean. Sam, on the other hand, felt that sharing the location was somehow a betrayal of the entity that had made it possible for them to have a family of their own. The argument had gone on for a couple of days, but became a moot point when Walter Skinner and Fox Mulder came to collect their wayward husband.

Ultimately, Sam and Dean had agreed to disagree on the subject, but it had been a prickly couple of days. For a boy with the gift of empathy, though, it had been upsetting; no matter how hard his fathers tried to shield their emotions from Michael, some leaked through. It had taken a lot of reassurance to convince the boy that the argument was just that, a disagreement, and had not harmed their relationship.

Sam sighed, realizing he’d brought that kind of pain and confusion back to his family. He hated it, but it couldn’t be helped. He still felt betrayed by his father’s actions. 

He put a bright smile on his face and entered the kitchen. “Okay, is everybody ready to go?”

“Yeah, got their lunches in their backpacks,” Dean responded. “They're ready to roll.”

Michael grabbed his reluctantly. “Are you going to be okay without us?”

“The bad man’s not coming back?” Danny added.

Dean had never stinted on his affection for his kids, something that had surprised Sam, given how they were raised and how Dean had avoided ‘chick flick’ moments like the plague until Michael was born. His affectionate displays, though, were usually of the rough and tumble kind and it was unusual for him to cup each boy’s face tenderly.

“Gordon Walker is not coming back,” Dean looked down into each son’s face and spoke with complete sincerity. “The bad guy’s gone and he’s not ever going to bother us again, I promise.” He glanced at Sam for confirmation. “Isn’t that right, Sam?”

“Absolutely,” Sam stated firmly. “We don’t ever have to worry about him again.”

“Okay,” Michael took a deep breath and moved forward to hug Dean. “But you’ll be careful while we’re gone, right?”

“Right,” Dean’s eyes were suspiciously bright as he hugged Michael back.

“My turn!” Danny lifted his hands up to be lifted for his hug.

When Dean reached out for the child, Sam cleared his throat. Dean looked at him and his expression grew first mulish and then sheepish as Sam nagged him by facial expression alone.

“I can’t pick you up, buddy,” Dean conceded. “Not until my back gets better.”

“Hey, I’ll lift you,” Sam offered, but Danny stepped away from him when he tried to pick him up.

“No,” the four year-old pouted. “Want to hug DeeDee all by myself.”

“Ooooh. . .” Dean murmured in an undertone. “Liddy is in for a treat with this one today.”

Michael saved the situation. “Here,” he suggested, pushing a kitchen chair forward. “Use this.”

Danny’s face brightened as he realized what his brother was suggesting. He eagerly clambered onto the chair and proceeded to try and hug the stuffing out of his father.

“You be good for Liddy and Miss Simpson,” Dean instructed the child when the hug was over, grabbing Danny by the chin and looking at him sternly. “No more attitude, okay?”

“Okay,” Danny agreed, sunny disposition back. He jumped off the chair, giggling.

Sam and Dean exchanged amused glances, glad to see their rambunctious little boy back to his usual self.

“Out to the SUV,” Sam instructed. “We need to get on the road.”

Dean followed them out to the porch. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

The boys waved and got into the SUV, but Sam knew that Dean’s words were meant for him. His brother’s gaze was assessing as he considered the younger man.

“I know,” Sam said softly. “I won’t be gone long.”

Once everyone was in the vehicle and safely belted, Sam started the SUV and they drove off. Both boys turned and waved at Dean for as long as he was in sight. Sam understood how they felt. After being practically inseparable for two weeks, it was hard to get back into the usual swing of things. 

“So, what are you looking forward to the most?” Sam asked when they got onto the main road, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

That got the boys to chatting about their upcoming day, easing the tension considerably. They’d decided the night before to drop Danny off at daycare first, Michael wanting to be there the first time that Liddy got called ‘Grandma.”

Sam couldn’t help but realize that Dean had engineered things so that he wouldn’t be present the first time it happened. 

There was no doubt that his brother loved their stepmother, but Dean had loved their mother too. While he clearly wanted Liddy to be 'grandma' to their kids, Dean probably didn't trust his own reaction the first time Michael and Danny called her by a name that should have been Mary Winchester's. Since Sam didn’t have any memories of his mother, hearing Liddy called ‘grandma’ wouldn’t be an emotional bomb for him.

With John Winchester still hunting, even if not as much as he had previously, it would have been a bad idea for Liddy to do daycare out of her home, as she had in Virginia. Instead, she worked at the daycare affiliated with the college that Sam taught at, the same daycare that Danny went to. It was a good arrangement, since Danny was very attached to her and she could continue to oversee his care.

The attachment went both ways. Liddy must have seen the SUV pull up, because shortly after Sam parked in front of the small, brick building, she was in the doorway, peering outside anxiously.

“Go on, boys,” Sam encouraged with a grin. “Go get her.”

Sam got out of the SUV and leaned against it, watching in satisfaction as Danny and Michael ran the short distance to the woman waiting for them.

“Grandma, Grandma!” They called.

It was a shame that Sam hadn’t brought his camera with him. Liddy was so happy to see the children that it took a moment for the import of what they were saying to sink in. When it did, her face was a study in yearning tempered with hesitation.

“Grandma?” Liddy questioned. Danny had his arms wrapped around her hips and Michael was pressed to her side.

“You’re married to Grandpa, that makes you our grandma,” Danny explained. 

“Is it okay?” Michael asked anxiously. “DeeDee said we didn’t need to ask.”

Hearing that Dean had known about the boys calling her grandmother seemed to ease Liddy’s concern. “If it’s okay with your fathers, of course it’s okay with me.” Liddy’s smile was watery and Sam didn’t need Michael’s empathy to tell that they were happy tears. 

“It’s more than okay, with both me and Dean,” Sam assured her.

“Well, that’s the nicest gift I’ve had in a long, long time,” Liddy squeezed each boy in turn. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Danny chirped.

Sam hated to break things up, but he had another child to drop off. “We better get going or Michael’s going to be late.”

“Danny, go on in,” Liddy ruffled the four year-old’s hair. “And don’t forget to put your lunch in the refrigerator with everyone else’s.”

“Okay, Grandma,” Danny grinned at getting to use his new name for Liddy again. Before he went inside, though, he came over to Sam for a hug. Sam was happy to pick the boy up and give him a squeeze.

“Have a great day, Danny,” Sam told him. “Be good.”

“Yes, DaSa,” Danny wiggled in his eagerness to get down. “And you take care of DeeDee; make him be good too.”

Waving, he ran into the daycare center. Michael took one look at the adults and announced that he was going back to the truck. Sam smiled grimly. Even with his emotional barricades up, Michael was far too sensitive to the moods around him.

“I promised your father I wouldn’t interfere, Sam,” Liddy stated when the boy was safely away. She smiled, but her eyes were sad. “Otherwise, you and I would have had a talk before now.”

“It’s between Dad and me,” Sam found himself agreeing with his father about keeping Liddy out of it and, damn, if that wasn’t irritating. He wasn’t in the mood to agree with the man about anything. “No one else has to be involved.”

“Oh, Sam,” Liddy laughed softly. “Sometimes I wonder who’s more mature, you or Danny. Of course other people are involved, what comes between you and John affects the whole family.”

“Not if we don’t let it, it won’t,” Sam retorted.

Liddy sighed and turned to go inside. “Your father’s right, you are more stubborn than he is. Just try to remember that he loves you.”

Sam set his jaw. “I thought you weren’t going to interfere.”

“That’s not interfering,” Liddy gently chided him. “That’s just the truth.”

When she was gone, Sam turned and trudged back to the truck. The closer he got, though, the more he made himself cheer up. If nothing else, he made sure that his own mental barriers were as firm as he could get them. Michael had enough to deal with as it was; he didn’t need Sam leaking emotional turmoil all over him. 

“That went well,” Sam announced as he slid back behind the steering wheel. “Liddy really liked you calling her ‘Grandma.’”

“Yeah, I guess.” Michael answered. He wasn’t looking at his father, instead staring out the window. “I don’t like it when you and Grandpa fight.”

Sam winced. “I don’t either.” Surprisingly, he found the words to be true.

“So why do you?” Michael asked.

The child’s blunt question almost undid Sam. “It’s a grown-up thing, Michael. Someday you’ll understand.”

Michael sighed and, in the rearview mirror, Sam could detect the rebellion in his son’s expression. Michael didn’t say anything, though, and Sam had a feeling he knew why. Dean. Their child trusted that his older father could fix things between Sam and John. Sam knew better, but didn’t say anything.

They’d explained to Michael that Sam was supposed to talk to his teacher when he dropped him off, so it wasn’t unexpected when Sam parked the SUV instead of just pulling in to the drop-off spot.

“Look, Michael, I want you to know how proud I am of you,” Sam stated, putting a hand on his son’s shoulder as they walked up to the school. “Both your DeeDee and I are. You were very brave and provided the police with the information they needed to find out who hurt DeeDee. Not only that, but you looked out for your brother and were really good when we needed you to be.”

“Thanks, DaSa,” Michael replied, a small smile on his lips. Then he caught sight of his teacher and his smile grew. “Mrs. Moore!”

“Hello, Michael,” she greeted him, genuinely glad to see her student. “Mr. Winchester.”

“Ma’am,” Sam nodded at her. The was an anxious-looking man standing next to her and Sam lifted his eyebrows in a silent question.

“This is Mr. Quinby, the principal,” the teacher explained.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Winchester,” the newly introduced Mr. Quinby shook Sam’s hand and shook it heartily. “Michael, good to see you back.”

Michael looked anxious and when he turned to the direction his son was looking, Sam could see why. A small group of children that Sam recognized as his son’s friends were waiting for him, just a short distance away from where Michael was penned in by the adults.

“Why don’t you go say hi to your friends,” Sam suggested. He looked quickly at the two school staff. “Unless you need him for something?”

“No, go on,” Mrs. Moore agreed. “Michael, I’ll see you inside.”

Michael gave his father a quick grin and a hug before taking off at a jog to greet the other children. Sam watched in satisfaction as the boy walked away with them, talking animatedly and looking content. 

“We wanted to assure you that we’ve taken every measure we could think of to make Michael feel comfortable coming back to school,” Mr. Quinby stated. “Officer Cummins was here last Wednesday to address his classmates about what happened. The counselor that works with the school district has made a few visits, helping the children cope with hearing about the violence.”

“And I spoke with Dr. Banyon on Friday; he offered some advice on how to help Michael make the transition back to a normal routine,” Mrs. Moore added. “He was most helpful. With what he suggested and the district’s counselor, we hope we’ve prevented the other students from hounding Michael for details about what happened.”

“They’re kids,” Sam shrugged. “They’re bound to be curious. As long as they don’t pester Michael for more than he’s willing to share.”

“I’ll be watching him closely, don’t worry,” Mrs. Moore assured him. Sam didn’t doubt her; he’d been impressed with the woman since meeting her at the first parent/teacher conference.

“Thanks,” Sam smiled. “At this point, Michael seems most anxious about something happening at home while he’s here. Do you suppose you could let him call this afternoon? Just to reassure him that his father and I are okay?”

The two school staff looked at each other, but it was the principal who replied.

“I don’t see why not,” Mr. Quinby stated. “We normally don’t allow outside phone calls, since they tend to be too disruptive, but this is hardly a typical circumstance. If it helps your son feel comfortable, I think an afternoon call for the next few days is more than reasonable.”

“Thank you,” Sam reached out and shook the man’s hand, then the teacher’s. “It sure is good to know that Michael is being taught by such responsible and compassionate people.”

No doubt Dean would have given Sam a hard time about brown-nosing if he’d heard the conversation, but Sam didn’t care. If being appreciative helped ease Michael’s way, then he’d brown-nose for all he was worth. If that didn’t work, though, there were always Dean’s more forthright tactics. So far, they hadn’t had to use them at this school.

After confirming the details of when Michael would call, Sam walked back to his vehicle. Once inside, he closed his eyes and laid his head back against the seat. He didn’t want to go home. At least, he wanted to go home, but not to have the particular conversation that he needed to have. There was no alternative, however. Dean had already been far more patient that Sam would ever had expected. His brother deserved to hear the entire truth.

Grim-faced, Sam started his SUV and headed for home.

~to be continued in Healing – part 8~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on July 27, 2014


	54. Healing - part 8

Dean Winchester was not a stupid man and, while he wasn’t as book smart as his brainiac younger brother, he knew his family. In particular, he knew Sam from the tip of his pointed head right down to the littlest of his toenails. When his brother was so reluctant to tell him what had gone down with Gordon Walker, Dean suspected that something had happened that Sam was afraid to tell him. Dean knew John too, as much as anyone could be said to know his father. When John was also elusive in answering Dean’s questions and insisted that Sam needed to tell Dean himself, it was easy for Dean to put two and two together. The answer he came up with was a hell of a lot more scary than the number four.

It had been tempting to corner Sam and make him talk, but Dean had known it wouldn’t work. His brother was stubborn and, whether Sam would admit at the moment or not, spooked as hell. Cornering him was a Very Bad Idea. Dean had decided to bide his time, even though patience didn’t come easily to him. In truth, it wasn’t only Sammy that needed a little time. Between his physical injuries, Jo’s death and worry about the boys, Dean was reeling. He was desperate for a chance to catch his breath and needed the weekend as much as Sam did. Gordon Walker might be dead, but Dean knew that the fallout was far from over. The weekend was much-needed breathing room for both brothers.

But the weekend was over.

It hadn’t taken Dean long to clean up from breakfast after Sam left with the kids. Too restless to focus on anything else, he sat himself down at the kitchen table and prepared to wait for Sam to return. He was still sitting there, two cups of coffee in front of him, when Sam came back into the house. Sam unceremoniously plopped down in the chair opposite his brother and Dean slid one mug across the table. Sam took a big drink and then started to talk.

“When we got to Faribault and stopped near the cabin, we found Ash and he was in bad shape,” Sam began.

The next few minutes were torture for Dean. Sam told his story in blunt words, almost dispassionately. It was hard to sit there and listen without reacting. Oh, Dean wanted to react, especially when he heard Sam describe how he started cutting on the bound Gordon Walker. He held himself back, though, knowing it would do more damage than good. Despite his unemotional recitation of that night’s happenings, Sam was fragile. Dean had thought he was prepared for the truth. He was wrong.

When Sam’s explanation wound down, Dean sat quietly for a few moments. He stared into the depths of his coffee mug, trying to decide the best tactic for getting through to his brother. For all of his smoldering anger at their father and his defiance, Dean knew that what he’d done was eating at Sam. Getting Sam to realize that, however, was going to take some Winchester-style diplomacy. In other words, blunt words were in order.

“Let me get this straight,” Dean asked in a deceptively mild tone. “You’ve been having a prolonged hissy fit at Dad because he wouldn’t let you torture someone to death?”

Sam’s nostrils flared as he visibly tried to keep a hold on his temper. “That’s not exactly how I’d put it. . . .”

“Then how would you put it, Sam?” Dean questioned. “Because that’s what it sounds like to me.”

He could see the effort it was for Sam to stay in his chair and not get up and pace. “Gordon Walker hurt a lot of people and killed Jo. Just shooting him was too easy; it didn’t make up for the pain he caused.”

“And is he any more dead now?” Dean asked, laying on the sarcasm thickly. What he wanted to do was shake his brother until he literally shook some sense into him. Given his physical condition, that wasn’t going to work, so he had to rely on his words instead. “Did making him suffer before he died kill him any better?”

“No, but it made me feel better,” Sam shot back. 

Dean sighed. That sounded like something he or their dad would say, not the tenderhearted man that he loved. Hearing Sam make a statement like that, Dean couldn’t help but feel that he’d failed Sam in some way.

“Sammy, that’s not like you, okay? I mean, you’re the guy that insisted that we couldn’t kill Lenore’s whole nest because they weren’t evil. Hurting someone, or something, just to hurt, that’s not you.”

Sam’s hands were clenching and unclenching on top of the table. “I hate to tell you this Dean, but that is me. When someone comes gunning for my husband and kids, you damn well better believe that’s me.” He looked at Dean from underneath his bangs. “I know you think I’m some kind of saint of something, but I’m not. Gordon Walker made you bleed and for that alone he had to suffer. If he would have gone after me directly, I wouldn’t have minded so much, but going after my family? That’s unforgivable.”

Dean shook his head. He’d had far too much time to think and he had a theory, one that Sam clearly needed to hear. “Sammy, did it ever occur to you that Gordon Walker wasn’t trying to kill you?”

“What?” Startled by his brother’s comment, Sam looked up. “What the hell are you talking about? This whole thing was about me being a monster and having monster kids and that we all needed to be destroyed.”

“I’m not so sure,” Dean responded calmly. “Years ago, Gordon Walker labeled you as evil and did his level best to kill you. Instead of killing him, you showed more mercy than he had and arranged for him to be arrested. Ol’ Gordy had almost a decade to sit in there and stew about it and while he did, he had to have heard stories about you from his old hunting contacts. About how you defeated the demon and how you became this big supernatural guru that everyone came to for advice. That had to stick in his craw.”

“And that’s why he wanted to kill me,” Sam retorted. “He couldn’t believe I wasn’t evil and that, as a result, our kids were evil.”

“That’s the whole point,” Dean seized Sam’s comment eagerly. “He could have killed you, easy, that first time. We know that Gordon was an ace at research. He knew you were at your office, alone, grading papers and that the campus was almost deserted. He could have popped you and still made it to the park and offed the kids.” Dean’s heart twisted at the very thought, but he forced himself to go on. “It would have been the smart thing to do. Instead, he came after the kids first. Why? And when he came after us a second time, he chose to attack on our own territory, when it would have been far more effective to bring you down when you were out with just Jo, hunting him. Why would he do that, if he was as good a hunter as we know he was?”

“Because hurting the kids would have incapacitated me?” Sam theorized. “Dean, if anything had happened to the boys, especially because of me, do you honestly think I would have survived?”

“No,” Dean was serious. “Gordon wasn’t trying to kill you; he wanted to turn you.”

“Turn me?” Sam scoffed. “Gordon Walker wasn’t a vampire, to turn people.”

Dean snorted. “The way he felt about vamps? No way. What I meant was that he wanted to be right about you, that was far more important to him than actually killing you. Killing you would have made you a martyr to the hunting world. Striking at your family, which we both agree would have sent you ape shit if it’d worked, would have made you insane. You would have gone all ballistic on his ass, proving him right.” Dean sat back in his chair. “I honestly don’t think he would have minded you killing him, as long as you became the kind of thing he hunted in the process.”

Sam sat quietly in his chair, head bowed, clearly thinking about what Dean had hypothesized. “Does it matter?”

“Yeah,” Dean said quietly, hating the words he would have to utter next. “Because he almost succeeded.”

Sam’s head shot up. “Wanting vengeance for my family doesn’t make me evil, Dean. You can’t tell me you wouldn’t have wanted to hurt him too, if given a chance.”

“Hey, I’m not saying what you did was wrong,” Dean got up and painfully made his way to Sam’s side. Once there, he leaned against the table with one hip. “You’re right, I would have done the same thing. The bastard deserved to hurt for what he did. Hell, the first time we had a run in with him and I’d beat him silly, I still ran his head into the doorframe just for the fun of it. That’s me, though, not you. It’s just not in your nature to hurt somebody like that.”

“That just shows how much you know,” Sam’s chin jutted belligerently. 

Dean reached out and touched Sam’s cheek with the same gentleness he’d shown their children that morning. “I’m sorry, Sam. It should have been me taking care of it. That’s my job.”

Sam glared up at him. “Dean, I know I’m your little brother, but I thought we were equals, life partners. You can’t go protecting me all the time.”

“I can try; it’s my job.” Dean shrugged. He cocked his head and looked at Sam appraisingly. He knew Sam from the tip of his pointed head right down to the littlest of his toenails and he knew he had more unpleasantness that Sam needed to hear. “You’re not mad at Dad, you know.”

“What?” Sam shook his head, apparently having a hard time following his brother’s logic. “I’m pissed as hell at him. He came in, decided — like always — that he knew better than me and ended it.”

“You’re mad at yourself,” Dean spoke as though Sam hadn’t said anything. It felt like a dozen years hadn’t gone by and he was again trying to buffer the war zone between his father and brother. “Dad’s just a convenient target.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “I heard what you said to the boys, about fixing it. Dean, I want you to stay out of it. Dad’s already warned Liddy off. This is between me and him. I don’t want you to try and mediate anything.”

“I won’t need to,” Dean said confidently. After all, he knew Sam. “You’re stubborn, but you’re smart. You’ll figure it out. Until then, though, I want to remind you of one more thing.”

“What’s that?” Sam sounded suspicious and Dean understood that. Dean was being deep with this conversation; something Sam wasn’t used to.

“You told me how Mikey asked the sheriff to shoot the bad guy,” Dean reminded him. “How did that make you feel?”

Sam immediately knew exactly where Dean was going with his line of logic. “Michael is eight years old; I’m a grown man. There’s a world of difference.”

“Dad’s your father, Sammy,” Dean was almost gentle. That was also part of Winchester diplomacy; blunt words with a world of love behind them. “You’ll always be his little boy. He was just trying to keep you from doing something you’d regret later. Isn’t that the kind of thing that fathers are supposed to do?”

The kind of thing that Sam had resented John not doing for years.

“He shouldn’t have taken my choice away,” Sam said stubbornly, not willing to relinquish his anger.

Dean sighed, but no longer tried to dissuade his brother. Instead, he nudged his body between Sam and the table, giving Sam no option but to scoot his chair back. As soon as he had room, Dean slowly and carefully lowered himself onto Sam’s lap, until he was straddling the younger man while they were, literally, nose to nose. He’d run out of words on the subject, but touch had always been his forte. He’d give up a little dignity if it meant another chance at connecting with his brother.

He was very glad they’d thought to buy sturdy kitchen chairs.

“So what else do you need to tell me?” Dean prompted. He’d said all he could think to say regarding Gordon Walker, but that wasn’t the end of it.

Sam looked away. Busted. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” Dean gently grasped Sam’s chin and forced his brother to look at him. “What’s the deal with the headaches? How bad are they?”

Sam wasn’t a good liar under the best of circumstances. Just coming off an intense conversation, he didn’t stand a chance. “Pretty bad.”

“Bad in the usual way or bad in the ‘I-want-to-rip-my-head-off’ way?” Dean persisted. This, too, was not entirely unexpected.

“Bad in the bleeding-from-the-nose way,” Sam admitted.

Dean stiffened. “Sam. . . .”

Sam didn’t bother getting defensive. He just looked his brother in the eye and quietly said, “It’s my job to protect you too.”

Try as he might, Dean couldn’t get his game face on; Sam’s admission had shaken him badly. Emotions washed through Dean and he had a feeling that every one of them shone on his face. Anger, that Sam hadn’t confided in him. Fear, for Sam’s health. Acceptance, when he realized he would have done the same thing.

Dean leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Sam’s for a minute and then he straightened, although he stayed on Sam’s lap. He’d reached his limit of melodrama for one morning.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Dean stated, with the air of a general unveiling a plan. “First, we’re going to go upstairs and make love.” He poked at Sam before his little brother could utter a protest. “You’re going to do all the work so I don’t overexert myself. Then, while you take a long nap, I’m going to call and get you a doctor’s appointment. You,” he poked Sam again, “are going to go to the doctor’s appointment without bitching a single syllable, because I am the big brother and you know damn well that big brothers are always right.”

“I am?” Sam asked softly, a smile playing about his lips. “You are?”

“Hell yeah,” Dean huffed. “After I make my phone calls, we’re going to eat a late lunch and take a shower before you have to go pick up the boys. If you’re very, very good, I might even let you scrub my back.”

Dean put his hands on Sam’s shoulders and used his grip to push himself to his feet. Sam steadied him with hands on Dean’s hips. Once Dean got his legs underneath him, he moved a couple of feet, turning to address Sam when he realized his brother wasn’t right behind him.

“You coming?” Dean asked impatiently.

From the look on his little brother’s face, Sam knew that Dean was simplifying matters enormously. Making love and napping wasn’t going to solve anything. On the other hand, it sounded damn good.

“Yeah,” Sam said as he got up. “I’m coming.”

Dean hadn’t managed to fix things; not yet. But it was a first step.

Making love was another step in the healing process. It had been over two weeks. They’d had chances to touch and hold one another, but those were moments of intimacy snatched out of chaos and not nearly fulfilling enough. Given the long dry spell, Dean would have expected the sex to be fast and frantic, but it was anything but. They had the whole day ahead of them and Sam seemed determined to use it all in bed. Dean was tempted to think that his brother was only delaying Dean from making that doctor’s appointment, but Sam was far too tender with him. The reverent way he kissed the newly healed scars left from Dean’s gunshot wounds left little doubt about his brother’s intentions.

“Hey, I’m all right,” Dean reassured him, voice husky with desire. He wrapped his fingers in Sam’s hair and tugged the other man’s head up. “You hear me?”

“We’re both all right,” Sam’s smile was shadowed, but sincere. He nibbled along Dean’s jaw. “But I’m still holding you to that promise to let me do all the work.”

And he did.

Afterwards, Sam fell asleep right away, done in by his exertions and the lack of sleep the night before. Dean lay tangled in his brother’s arms, content to just look at him. It was painfully obvious that Sam needed the rest. As Dean watched, a frown marred Sam’s expression and he immediately reached out to sooth him.

“Shhh, Sammy,” Dean crooned as he ran a gentle thumb along the worry crease on his brother’s forehead. “Everything’s okay; everybody’s all right. You can stand down now.”

Wonder of wonders, it worked. Sam sighed softly in his sleep and settled down, easing into a deeper slumber.

Dean satisfied himself with just watching his brother for a while, but wasn’t particularly sleepy himself. After about an hour, he carefully disentangled from Sam, dressed and padded downstairs. There was an office just off the kitchen and that’s where the family’s important papers were stored. Dean dug around until he found the insurance information.

“Ah ha,” he crowed quietly in satisfaction after looking over the paperwork. “That’s what I thought.”

Sam wasn’t going to be happy about Dean was about to do, but Dean didn’t really care. Sam should have told him about the headaches earlier. His lack of forthcoming meant he forfeited his right to complain when Dean made the arrangements to get the headaches checked out.

An hour and several phone calls later, Dean leaned back in satisfaction. He loved it when a plan came together. Of course, he still had to explain the plan to Sam. Dean’s smile slipped a little when he thought of that upcoming conversation.

The ringing of the telephone interrupted his thoughts and Dean scrambled out of his chair. He moved as fast as his injuries would allow to the kitchen, wanting to stop the ringing before it woke Sam.

“Winchester,” Dean answered the phone, more of snarl in his voice than would normally be there, but not as much as there would be if whoever was calling woke Sam up.

“Dean?” His father’s voice sounded startled. “Is everything okay?”

Dean wiped a hand across his face. “Yeah, Dad. We’re fine.”

“You sure?” John Winchester persisted. “You sound like someone pissed in your coffee.”

“Just worried that the phone would wake Sammy up,” Dean explained.

“Sam’s taking a nap?” John’s voice was worried. “I would think that you would need one more than he does.”

The comment bordered on mother henning and, had Sam made it, Dean would have growled. He had to be a little more circumspect with his father, however. “Yeah, well, he didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Damn it, Dean, I have told you time and again about giving me too much information on that kind of stuff.”

It took a minute for Dean to catch on to what his father was assuming. “No, not that. Today was the deadline I gave him for telling me what went down with Gordon Walker.”

“Oh.” John’s tone was unusually subdued. “And how’d that go?”

“About like I expected,” Dean told him. “And Dad, thank you. For what you did, what you stopped Sammy from doing. Thank you.”

There was silence for a moment and when his father finally answered, his voice was thick. “Your brother doesn’t exactly see it that way.”

“Well, Sammy’s running on adrenaline right now,” Dean stated. “That and aspirin. Dad, did you know he’d been having headaches?”

“Your brother has been under a lot of stress,” Their dad was being atypically understanding about the whole thing and Dean couldn’t help but wonder if his father was sticking up for Sam because of the break he’d had with the younger of his two sons. “It’d be surprising if he didn’t.”

“Ones that make him bleed?” Dean pressed, beginning to angry. “That wouldn’t surprise you? Because it sure as hell surprised me when he admitted to it.”

“Sam was bleeding?” John’s voice got a lot colder. “No, he didn’t mention that little fact to me.”

“Me neither, not until this morning” Dean admitted. “But while he’s been napping, I got him an appointment.”

“With a neurologist, I hope,” his father commented.

“Damn spanky,” Dean retorted, then added with pride, “at the Mayo.”

His father didn’t disappoint with his reaction. In fact, he whistled long and low with appreciation. “The Mayo Clinic in Rochester? 

“That’s the one,” Dean answered smugly. “It’s the best in the world and it’s practically in our backyard. I figured Sammy deserves the best.”

“How did you manage that?” His dad asked, clearly impressed. “I’ve heard it can take months to get in there.”

“You remember that solo job you sent me on, right after Sam went off to college, the job in New York?” Dean prompted. “The one with the med student whose study cadaver kept talking to him?”

“I thought you said he was a bad student?” John questioned. “Don’t tell me that he works at the Mayo, I thought they had higher standards than that?”

In truth, Zach Porter had been an abysmal student. It turned out that his study cadaver had been a doctor when alive and his spirit was so disgusted at the inability of the med student dissecting him that he’d taken to haunting his own corpse.

“Nah, Zach dropped out,” Dean smirked, even though his father couldn’t see him. “Became a video game designer. . . but he married a doctor. Gina works at the Mayo and she got Sammy in.”

“I’m surprised that you got Sam to agree to go.” At Dean’s silence, John started to chuckle. “You haven’t told him yet.”

“He’s been asleep, it’s not like I’ve had a chance to,” Dean knew he sounded defensive, but couldn’t help himself.

“You keep telling yourself that, son.” His dad chuckled again, but then cleared his throat. “The reason I was calling is that Ash is having his last surgery tomorrow and if he shows no signs of infection by the end of the week, they’ll be releasing him to go home.”

Dean heaved a sigh of relief. It was too soon to know if Ash would regain full use of his hand, but at least the doctors had managed to save it from having to be cut off. So far. “That’s great news, Dad.”

“I was wondering,” John cleared his throat again. “I’ll be in town again on Wednesday and I was wondering if I could see the boys. Maybe take them out for ice cream after they have dinner. I’d wait until the weekend, but Bobby’s coming up and we’ll be helping Ellen get Ash back to the Roadhouse.”

The request brought back a whole host of feelings from the time when Sam’d been in high school. He and John had spent those years at each other’s throats, with Dean desperately trying to play peacemaker. Dean hated feeling like that again.

“Of course you can see them,” Dean assured his dad. “Sam said he wasn’t going to come between you and the boys. Ice cream will be fine. I know they’ll be glad to spend time with you; they talk about you and Liddy all the time.” He decided to take advantage of his dad’s desire to spend time with the boys and ask for a favor. “Say, speaking of grandparent things to do, can you take the boys on an overnight next week? It’d be Tuesday and Wednesday.”

“While you’re in Rochester?” John guessed. “Yeah, we can do that, I’ll be sure to be back from Nebraska by then. You certain that Sam’ll be okay with that?”

Dean snorted. “I don’t care what Sammy thinks of you at the moment, he knows there’s no one better able to protect Mikey and Danny when we’re not around. He’ll be okay with it.”

After cementing the details and getting a promise from his father to keep them updated on Ash’s surgery, Dean hung up the phone. He was trying decide if he wanted to tackle the stairs again to rejoin Sam in bed, when his brother came wandering into the kitchen with a serious case of bed head.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked, bleary-eyed and pouting. “I woke up and you weren’t there.”

Dean wasn’t a coward, but he was an opportunist and decided to not put off telling Sam about the arrangements he made. A sleepy Sam wasn’t any less likely to get pissy, but it might take him longer to get worked up. “I got you a doctor’s appointment.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “For when?”

“Wednesday,” Dean answered tersely.

His brother frowned. “Wednesday? Dean, you know that your first day of physical therapy and the boys’ second appointment with Dr. Banyon.”

“Not this Wednesday,” Dean clarified. “Next Wednesday.”

Sleepy or not, Sam gave Dean a wary look. “I’m surprised you were willing to wait that long.”

Dean steeled himself. “I’ve got connections, but even I can’t get you in to the Mayo Clinic in two days.”

Sam blinked. “The Mayo. You got me an appointment at the Mayo Clinic?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied, then tried to go on as nonchalantly as possible. “Dad’s already agreed that he and Liddy can watch the boys. That’s your first week of class, but you’ll be able to do the first day of lecture on Monday, the one where you get to flash your dimples and convince them that you’re the nicest professor, ever. No one should need you for office hours on Tuesday, then you said that Missy offered to take your classes for you the first week, so she can do Wednesday. You should be back on campus by Friday. . . unless they find something.”

His younger brother looked bemused. “You really think all of that’s necessary? I mean, the Mayo, Dean.”

“Hell, yes, it’s necessary,” Dean stated stubbornly. “You said you were bleeding, Sam. For once and for all, I want to know what these visions are doing to you.”

He expected a fight, but for once, Sam backed down. “Fine.”

“Fine?” Dean repeated when nothing more was forthcoming. “You mean, you’re not going to throw a hissy fit about it?”

“Would it do any good?” Sam asked wryly. When Dean just shook his head, Sam shrugged. “I guess I’m just not in the mood to fight.” He walked across the kitchen to Dean and kissed him. “All I want to do is sleep and make love until it’s time to pick the boys up from school.”

Dean kissed him back. “That sounds good, but you think we could eat first? I’m starving.”

Sam lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. Dean’s appetite had been slow to come back and for him to want to eat had become unusual. “Sure. I think there’s some Tater Tot Hot Dish in the fridge.”

“Oooh. . . . sounds good,” Dean commented. “What are we celebrating?”

“Everything,” Sam threw his hands up in an all-encompassing gesture. “Just. . . everything. Don’t you think we deserve to?”

Dean thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, I guess we do. But after we get a snack, I want to take you up on the sleep and making love thing.” He pursed his lips. “Maybe not in that order.”

Sam’s grin was a promise.

~to be continued in Healing – part 9~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted July 28, 2007


	55. Healing, part 9

In a way, it was a lot like being pregnant. Back when Dean had agreed that Sam could be the one to have their second child, Sam had promised to let Dean fuss as much as he wanted without complaining about it. Now that Dean knew about the headaches, or, rather, the true severity of the headaches, he was in full hovering mode. It was ridiculous, given that Dean himself was far from 100%, but Sam couldn’t find the fortitude to bitch about it. He’d kept too much from Dean during the whole Gordon Walker incident; he could put up with a little over protectiveness.

Life was rapidly approaching normal. Michael’s first two days of school had gone smoothly and Danny was talking up a storm. Michael did have a nightmare Monday night, but Sam had launched himself out of bed at the barest whimper that came through the baby monitor and had managed to sooth the boy out of the worst of it. In fact, in the morning, Michael hadn’t even remembered the incident. The next night had been Danny’s turn, although thanks again to the monitor, they were able to intervene before it got too bad.

It was Wednesday already and the boys had their second session with Dr. Banyon scheduled that afternoon. Sam wasn’t looking forward to it, but he wasn’t dreading it either. The same couldn’t be said for his own doctor’s appointment, although that wouldn’t take place until the following week. It had surprised Sam a bit, that Dean would be willing for Sam to wait so long to be seen by a doctor. Dean had been uncharacteristically calm about it, much more so than Sam had expected. He supposed Dean was willing to be patient because it was the world renowned Mayo Clinic that Sam would be going to.

A calm Dean shouldn’t be scary, but it was.

Telling his brother about what had happened with Gordon Walker had been strange. It was almost like Dean had known already, although Sam was pretty sure that John hadn’t told him. It had been a deep relief to see understanding in Dean’s eyes and not disgust, even if Dean seemed sadden by Sam’s actions. True to character, Dean kept trying to convince Sam that killing Walker should have been his burden and that it was ultimately his fault, but Sam wouldn’t let that fly. Dean wasn’t responsible, not by a long shot.

They really had spent the day in bed, alternately making love and sleeping. Sam wasn’t sure which one of them had needed it more.

“Hey, Dad called this morning,” Dean said quietly, breaking the silence in the SUV. Sam was driving him to his first physical therapy appointment.

“Uh-huh,” Sam stated noncommittally. Dean had launched a subtle campaign to convince Sam to let their father back into his good graces, but Sam was refusing to let it work. Dean’s comments about Sam really being mad at himself instead of their dad were so off the mark that it wasn’t even funny.

“Ash came out of the surgery with flying colors,” Dean went on to explain. “He’ll probably get out of the hospital on Friday.”

“Now, that is good news,” Sam’s smile was unforced. 

“Dad says that Ash wants to stop by the house and see the boys on their way to the Roadhouse,” Dean told his brother. He was carefully not looking at his brother.

Sam pulled into the medical building parking lot and found them a parking space. “I dunno, Dean.” He put the SUV into park and turned it off. “I want to support Ash and all, but I’m not sure the boys are ready to see him like that.”

Dean tapped his fingers against the dash. “I think we need to.” Sam looked at him in surprise and Dean explained. “They know he’s hurt and they know Jo’s dead. I think they need to see Ash so they can see he’s going to be okay.”

“All right,” Sam agreed, after thinking about it. “We probably should mention it to Dr. Banyon, though.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Dean agreed. He seemed a lot more relaxed about the boys seeing a psychiatrist since he’d met their doctor.

That settled, the brothers got out of the SUV and headed into the medical building. Since it was more walking that Dean had been doing around the house, he used his crutches. As they entered the lobby and made their slow way to the desk, Sam couldn’t help but notice someone glaring at them. The man was wearing a tunic and name badge, indicating he was an employee. Sam could only hope that he wasn’t Dean’s therapist.

“Ah, Mr. Winchester,” the medical assistant responded to Dean giving his name. “You’re right on time. You won’t be seeing Bruce Bellcomb, though. Your PT will be conducted by Michael Jordon.”

One of Dean’s eye brows arched. “Michael Jordon?”

“Yes, he’s really one of the very best,” the woman assured him.

“With a name like that, I better be,” a young black man come out of the doorway behind the reception desk and smiled at the Winchesters. “It’s a good thing I’m so awesome at what I do.”

“And humble too,” Dean murmured.

“I figure, if I can’t have the other Michael Jordon’s money, at least I can have his attitude,” the therapist countered. 

Sam felt himself relax. Dean responded well to humor, so there was actually a fighting chance that Dean would follow the man’s instructions.

Michael Jordon led them back into the treatment rooms.

“Nothing personal, but what happened to the other guy?” Dean asked as they reached a particular room and the therapist gestured them inside.

Jordan rubbed the side of his nose. “Well, let’s just say that his schedule suddenly got too busy to fit in a male patient with a husband.”

Sam remembered the man who’d glared at him in the lobby. “That sounds like a lawsuit waiting to happen,” he stated quietly.

“Which is exactly why I’m your husband’s therapist instead,” the other man replied. He winked. “I’m pretty damn good, if I do say so myself. You’re lucky we made the switch.”

In spite of his automatic anger at the thought of someone’s prejudice towards his relationship with Dean, Sam couldn’t help but smile at Jordan’s smug declaration. Yeah, Dean and this guy would get along famously.

All kidding aside, Michael Jordan turned thoroughly professional as he took down Dean’s medical history and the details of his injuries. Sam could see that the man had a description of them from his brother’s medical file, but he was impressed that Jordan went through the questioning anyway. He liked that the therapist wanted to hear the story directly from the patient. 

After the therapist took down the bare bones of what had happened, Jordan stepped out of the room for a few minutes while Dean changed into a set of modified scrubs. When he came back, Jordan got right down to business.

“We need to build up the strength in both your leg and shoulder, without stressing them,” the therapist explained as he started Dean on some simple exercises. “Your muscles are stiff from not being used or, really, not being used right. The crutches are an evil necessity right now, but they put your body all out of whack. We need to help you get everything back into order.”

“Sorta like getting a car realigned, right?” Dean suggested. Sam noticed how his brother tried to hide a wince as a particular movement stretched his leg.

“Exactly,” Jordan grinned at the comparison. “That’s exactly it.”

The physical activity part of it didn’t last long and Sam was glad he stayed. He’d be helping Dean with his exercises once they got home.

“Okay, that’s enough for today,” Michael Jordan instructed. He’d finished with some massage techniques and Sam paid particularly close attention to those. “I’ll get some instruction sheets for you that’ll be reminders of the things I want you to work on until our next session.”

“Good,” Dean commented. He winced as he sat up on the massage table. “I want to get started right away.”

That statement worried Sam a bit, so he was relieved when the physical therapist regarded his brother with narrowed eyes.

“You know, most patients I have to really prod into doing their home exercises enough, because, let’s face it, physical therapy hurts,” Jordan said. “But it’s just as bad, if not worse, to overdo it. You’re going to have to be careful.”

“He will be,” Sam promised. Jordan grinned at the way Dean rolled his eyes.

“Seriously, man,” the therapist told Dean. “You’re not going to get better any faster by working yourself into the ground. Quite the opposite.”

“Okay, okay,” Dean grumbled. “I’ll stick to the schedule and not go for any extra credit.” He looked down at his feet and then back up, almost shyly. “What about driving?”

“Oh, no, you’re not catching me with that one.” Jordan laughed. “I bet your doctor told you six weeks and I’m not going to tell you any different.”

“Four weeks, now,” Dean sighed. “Damn it.”

“Sorry, can’t help you with that,” the therapist said as he headed for the door. “But I will help you get your body back up to par. See you in a couple of days.”

“Come on,” Sam tried to comfort his brother. “The time will fly.”

“When I’m havin’ fun?” Dean retorted. “Yeah, like that’s gonna happen, not when I’m barred from the Impala.”

Sam leaned in close enough to whisper in his brother’s ear. “Even when I practice those massage techniques on you? I was watching pretty close.”

Dean swallowed. “Well, that might help while away an hour or two.” He looked at Sam hopefully. “Maybe after the boys are in bed tonight, you can put those freakishly big hands of yours to good use?”

“You bet, baby,” Sam laughed. He loved it that Dean was feeling well enough to flirt. “Now get dressed so we can go get the boys.”

They’d scheduled the appointment so that when it was over, it would be time to pick the boys up from school and daycare. Sam was almost wishing they hadn’t; Dean looked a little rough around the edges. He shouldn’t have worried, however. By the time both boys were in the car, Dean’s had regained most of his color and even his energy level didn’t seem to be flagging as much.

“DaSa, did you bring them?” Michael asked anxiously. 

Both he and Danny had been given homework assignments from the psychiatrist. They were to watch movies or read stories about dogs and Sam had kept a list of what each boy had done.

“Yup, right here.”

Sam was driving, so Dean handed the folder over to his son, who seemed relieved to have it. Michael had inherited Sam’s love of school and school-like things, so he took assignments very seriously.

“Are you guys looking forward to seeing Dr. Banyon?” Dean asked carefully. 

“Uh-huh,” Danny spoke up right away. “I want to show him that I’m talking good.”

“I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear it,” Sam said with a smile. The family certainly had.

They went to the same building as before, but this time after they checked in, they were taken to a more traditional office. The room was still clearly set up for kids, but it wasn’t as large and there was no two-way mirror. The boys remained relaxed, however, and genuinely seemed pleased to see the doctor, when he arrived.

“Hi, Dr. Matt,” Danny chirped when he saw the psychiatrist. He wasn’t at all shy about talking again.

“Well, hello,” the doctor smiled. “I guess I don’t have to ask you how your week went.”

“It was good,” Sam confirmed. “There were a couple of nightmares, but nothing we couldn’t handle.

“I tell you what, why don’t the dads go to the waiting area outside and I can ask Michael and Danny to give me the details,” Dr. Banyon suggested.

Seeing that the boys were calm at the prospect at being alone with the doctor, Sam stood and helped his brother to his feet. They told the boys to cooperate with Dr. Banyon and then made their wait to the waiting area right outside. Dean sank thankfully into a chair, but then his good leg started bouncing almost right away.

“I hate this,” Dean grumbled. 

“I know,” Sam responded. He put a hand on Dean’s knee, bringing the agitated movement to a stop. “Dr. Banyon’s good, he’ll help us get Michael and Danny through this.”

“Yeah, they seem to like him just fine,” Dean grudgingly admitted. He stretched and then winced.

“If you’re hurting, I brought your pain meds with me,” Sam offered. “After that work-out at physical therapy, it’d make sense that you’d need some.”

Dean shook his head. “Maybe later, when we get home. I want to be 100% when it’s our turn to talk to the boys’ doctor. He’s a sharp one.”

Sam had been waiting for an opportunity and decided this was the best he was going to get.

“You said that Dr. Banyon seems like a good doctor and he’s local,” Sam pointed out. “Maybe I should just get my head checked out by someone around here instead of driving all the way to the Mayo.”

Dean gave him a sideways glance. “Nuh-uh, Sammy. Don’t even try to wiggle out of it. The Mayo’s the best there is and that’s where you’re going to be seen.” Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean overrode him. “End of story, Sammy.”

Both Winchester brothers were strong-willed, but usually Sam was the more stubborn of the two. When it came to Sam’s health and well-being, though, Dean was implacable. With a sigh, Sam let the subject drop, knowing from Dean’s tone that he wasn’t going to be able to persuade him. It looked like Sam was going to the Mayo, after all.

It seemed like forever that the boys were in with Dr. Banyon, but less than an hour later, the kids came bouncing back into the waiting area. Their psychiatrist was all smiles.

“My assistant will stay with Danny and Michael while we have a quick chat,” Dr. Banyon explained, gesturing to a young woman. The boys settled down to work a puzzle while their fathers took a turn in the other room.

“I won’t beat around the bush, I’m very pleased with your sons’ progress,” Dr. Banyon told them as they settled into comfortable chairs. “They’ve made great strides.”

“And the nightmares?” Dean asked. 

“Unfortunately, that’s to be expected,” Dr. Banyon explained. “Dreams are the psyche’s way of working things out. As long as they don’t become too disruptive or go on for too long, it should be okay.”

“So we shouldn’t wake them up?” Dean frowned. From the frown on his brother’s face, Dean didn’t like that idea. When it came down to it, neither did Sam.

“Oh, no,” Dr. Banyon reassured the concerned fathers. “By all means, if the dreams are upsetting them, wake them. Gently, of course. Michael did ask why Gordon Walker tried to harm them and I assured them that it was nothing that they did. You might want to be prepared for that question.” Seeing the Winchesters nod at his words, he drew out a sheet of paper and handed it to Sam, who was sitting the closest. “I asked the boys to draw me a picture of themselves with a dog. This is Michael’s.”

With Dean looking over his shoulder, Sam studied his son’s drawing. Michael was beyond the stick figure stage and they could clearly see that the boy in the drawing was supposed to be him. The boy was on one side of the page and the dog was on the other.

“And this is Danny’s.”

The second drawing was even more telling. Danny’s drawing of himself was a sloppy stick figure and, like Michael’s, was on the edge of the page. The dog was also just awkward circles, but had been drawn very large and with a large mouth. It was on the other side of the paper.

“Clearly, both Danny and Michael’s drawings indicate anxiety about dogs,” Dr. Banyon pointed out. “But they were both able to draw one without any undue distress. That’s encouraging.”

“They’re doing okay, then?” Sam asked.

Dr. Banyon smiled without hesitation. “Give what they’ve been through, I’d say they’re more than okay. Michael’s settling into school and Danny’s talking again. It’s obvious that they’re receiving the support they need, both at home and away. I’d say that they’re well on the way to recovery.”

After a few more reassuring comments, Dr. Banyon went over the boys assignments until the next session. It would essentially be more of the same, but he was hoping that Michael and Danny’s comfort level would improve to the point that he could bring in a therapy dog to interact with them in a week or two.

“Thank you so much, Dr. Banyon,” Sam thanked the doctor as they rose to leave.

“Yeah, thanks,” Dean added.

“I’m sure you’re hating this,” Dr. Banyon responded. “But you’ve got two great kids; they’re going to be just fine.”

With lighter hearts, the brothers left the office and went to gather their kids. The boys were still engrossed in the puzzle, but left off happily when they saw their fathers.

“Anybody here ready to get some grub?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, me!” Danny danced in place.

“Did we do good?” Michael asked, anxious.

Sam ruffled his hair. “Yeah, you sure did.”

At the psychiatrist’s suggestion, Sam and Dean didn’t question the boys about their session, other than letting them know that Dr. Banyon was pleased with how they were doing. Danny chatted happily about his time at daycare, but the brothers noticed that Michael was unusually quiet. They glanced at each other in concern, but decided to wait and address it until they were at home.

St. Peter had its share of national chain restaurants, but the Winchester’s preferred the town’s diner, a leftover of sorts from their days on the road. It was a regular destination and when the hostess saw them, she just waved the family to their usual table. They almost knew the menu by heart and it didn’t take long for their orders to be taken.

The kids had been given special paper placemats that had pictures that be colored and puzzles to be done. After Dean helped Danny open his crayons, the younger boy immediately took to coloring, but Michael just traced the outline of his with his fingers.

Sam and Dean exchanged another glance over the boy’s lowered head.

“Hey, buddy,” Sam said softly. “Everything okay?”

Michael looked up at him. “The bad guy, Dr. Matt said he tried to hurt us because he was sick.”

“That’s right, Michael,” Sam answered. “Gordon Walker was mentally ill. He didn’t attack us because of anything we did; he was just sick.”

His answer didn’t seem to reassure the boy.

“Mikey, what is it?” Dean asked.

“The bad guy was sick and he hurt people,” Michael said forlornly. “But me and Danny, we’re going to a doctor that helps people who are sick in their minds. Does that mean we’re going to hurt people too?”

Sam felt his stomach drop. Michael had always been a bright boy and, thanks to his empathy, he was also emotionally mature for his age. Never in a thousand years, though, would Sam have expected his son to make that connection.

“I’d not gonna hurt nobody,” Danny claimed with a frown.

“Of course you’re not,” Dean stated firmly. “Mikey, it’s not the same thing at all.”

“It’s not?” Michael’s eyes were wide.

“No, it’s not,” Dean repeated. He seemed to search for an explanation and then launched into a story when he found one. “You remember that elm tree in the back yard?”

Michael looked confused. “The one that got cut down last year?”

“That’s the one,” Dean confirmed. “Remember when its leaves turned brown and fell off?”

“You went to the plant store and got medicine for it,” Michael answered.

“Yeah and it didn’t help. We tried medicine, we tried special plant food and wrapped it with tape.” Dean replied. “Your DaSa even went to the plant guy at the university and asked for advice, but no matter what we did, the tree didn’t get better. There was something wrong, really wrong, at the root level and it just couldn’t be saved. It died.”

Trust Dean to come up with a death story that wouldn’t frighten the boys.

“And we cut it down ‘cause you said it might fall on the house,” Michael added.

“That’s right,” Dean praised his memory. “Now, that’s the kind of sick that Gordon Walker was. Down deep at the root and with something that couldn’t be cured. You and Danny, though, aren’t really sick,” Dean went on. “You’re a little droopy, is all.”

“So we won’t hurt anyone?” Michael asked. Sam could see the light returning to his son’s eyes.

“No, you won’t,” Sam answered firmly. “Your DeeDee is right; it’s not the same thing as the bad guy at all. Your ability to sense people’s emotions and Danny’s to block special abilities are different, but that doesn’t make them bad.”

“Yeah, your DaSa has visions and he hasn’t used them to hurt anybody,” Dean claimed. 

Sam was thankful that Michael was watching Dean at that moment and didn’t see him wince. Sam hadn’t directly hurt Gordon Walker with a vision, but he’d tracked him down because of one.

And then Sam had hurt him.

Much reassured, Michael happily attacked the puzzles on his placemat. Sam exchanged a relieved glance with Dean over their sons’ heads. Dr. Banyon had warned them to expect questions about Gordon Walker, but this had been much more than that. Even so, Sam was glad that Michael had asked them and not the psychiatrist. Michael seemed to understand the need to keep his ability secret, but there was always the possibility that it could slip out, especially with a trained professional like Dr. Banyon.

After that conversation, the rest of their meal went pretty much normally. Danny tried to get out of eating his vegetables and both of his fathers held firm. Michael, much to Dean’s constant amazement, actually liked vegetables and didn’t need any parental intervention to eat them.

“I want chocolate pie,” Michael declared after finishing his plate.

“Nope, no pie,” Dean shook his head. “Not tonight.”

“But DeeDee, you said we were good,” Michael whined.

“But I want pie, please.” Danny used the big eyes, which Dean claimed he’d learned from Sam. Sam didn’t believe it for a minute.

“Whoa there, guys, I said no pie, I didn’t say no dessert,” Dean held up his hands as if in surrender. From the twinkle in his eye, though, he wasn’t overly upset at his offspring’s reaction. “Would you rather have plain ol’ pie. . . or would you rather have ice cream with Grandpa?”

Dean, like Sam, had seen their father’s truck pull up. The boys’ loud affirmation that, in fact, ice cream with their grandfather would be much preferred, got the Winchesters a couple of dirty looks from surrounding tables.

“I’ll take these heathens outside,” Dean struggled to his feet, but glared at Sam when he moved to offer assistance. “You take care of the bill?”

“Sure,” Sam agreed, knowing that his brother was attempting to make Sam’s unwillingness to interact with their father less obvious to the boys. He only had to wait a moment before their waitress came by. “Sorry about that, Linda.”

“No problem, Sam,” she waved off his apology. “After what we heard you went through, I was glad to see the boys so happy.”

Sam smiled, once again appreciating being part of a community. “How much do we owe you?”

“Oh, your money’s no good here tonight,” she grinned and winked. “I’ve got a little pull with the owner.” Since she owned the diner with her husband, Linda had more than a little pull. “And don’t even think of talking us out of it. I swear, with Dean not coming in the last couple of weeks, our receipts have gone down 20%.”

“Thanks, Linda.” Sam accepted sheepishly.

“Speaking of your better half, he’s not getting pie?” She looked disappointed.

“No, my dad’s taking the kids for ice cream,” Sam explained.

Linda frowned. “Well, shoot, Dean’ll still need something for his sweet tooth. Tell you what, you hang on a minute and I’ll get you a take-out box.”

Sam was embarrassed, but waited anyway. His embarrassment was nothing compared to what he would go through if Dean found out, as he certainly would, that an offer of free pie had been turned down. As a result of the delay, the boys were already loaded into John’s truck by the time Sam exited the diner. Michael and Danny waved through the window at him and Sam waved back, telling himself that he was just acknowledging his sons and not their grandfather.

“All set?” Sam asked as Dean made his slow way towards him.

“Yup,” Dean looked tired again. “After they got in, I warned him about them asking about Gordon Walker. He’ll back us up on that.”

In spite of his anger at his father, Sam had never doubted that. “Good.”

“What’s that?” Dean nodded at the Styrofoam box in Sam’s hands. 

Sam smiled. Dean’s free food radar was as accurate as ever. “Linda sent you home some pie.”

Dean licked his lips. “I knew I liked that woman. What kind?”

“I don’t know,” Sam admitted. “I didn’t even look.”

“Sam,” Dean shook his head in disgust at his brother’s lack of interest.

Rolling his eyes, Sam obediently opened the container so his brother could see what was inside. To his mild surprise, there were two pieces. Apparently Dean wasn’t the only Winchester that Linda had a soft spot for.

“You can have them both,” Sam offered. Dean’s appetite was better, but still nowhere near normal. If he would eat it, Sam’d buy him a whole pie.

“Nah,” Dean shook his head. “You’re gonna need the calories. You offered to give me a massage, remember? Those fingers of yours are going to get quite the workout.”

Sam was only too happy to oblige. It wasn’t too long or intimate of a massage, though, because John only kept the boys for an hour or so. After he dropped them off, pointedly not coming in to say hello, there was homework to help with and baths to supervise. Exhausted, both Winchester brothers went to bed soon after their children did.

This time, Sam was the one with a nightmare.

It started out benignly enough, just a repeat of their dinner conversation. In his dream, though, Michael’s question was a little different.

“But Danny and me have powers just like DaSa does,” the dream Michael said. “Will we hurt people when we grow up, like DaSa hurt the bad guy?”

Thankfully, Sam woke before the dream Dean could answer. 

He lay in their bed for a few moments, reveling in his brother’s nearness. That wasn’t enough to dispel the vestiges of the dream, though. After kissing Dean’s shoulder, Sam slid out of bed and padded down the hall. Danny had again snuck into Michael’s room. Sam went in and checked on the boys, glad to see that they were both sleeping peacefully. He needlessly fussed with the covers before bending to kiss each forehead.

When he’d finally seen his fill, or at least enough to feel comfortable going back to bed, Sam turned to leave. He shouldn’t have been surprised to find Dean leaning on the doorframe, watching him with concern. Sam strode the few steps to the door and Dean waited until they were in the hallway before speaking.

“Everything okay, Sammy?” His brother asked.

“Yeah, I just woke up and had to see them,” Sam lied. Part of it was true and he was hoping that would help him sneak the part about the nightmare past his brother. “Come on, let’s go back to bed.”

Dean let himself be assisted back to their room and he curled up half on top of Sam when Sam lay down on the bed with him.

“You know, what you told the boys about their abilities is true for you too,” Dean pointed out quietly. “You aren’t evil or anything just because you have visions.”

“I know,” Sam commented.

“You can’t let Gordon Walker make you second guess yourself,” Dean went on to say. “The man was a crazy mo-fo. He killed his own sister.”

“She was a vampire at the time,” Sam found himself in the odd position of defending the man he’d tortured.

“Doesn’t matter, she was still family,” Dean was mulish, but given his views on family, his opinion on the subject was to be expected. In Dean’s eyes, Gordon Walker had committed a cardinal sin long before they ever met him.

“Nothing he said is making me think I’m a freak or demon spawn or anything,” Sam assured the other man. “Now, quit thinking and go to sleep.”

Dean chuckled, but was already only half awake. “Isn’t that my line?”

“Yeah, well, sometimes I get to say it.” As far as comebacks went, it was pretty lame, but it was three o’clock in the morning and was the best Sam could muster.

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean quipped, even as he wormed his head into the sweet spot between Sam’s neck and shoulder.

Sam lay quietly, not sighing until he was certain that Dean was well and truly out. He wasn’t entirely sure had hadn’t lied to Dean, there at the last. Nothing Gordon Walker had told him had made Sam think he was evil. But the way he’d enjoyed torturing the man?

That, Sam was no longer sure of.

~to be continued in Healing part 10~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted July 29, 2007


	56. Healing - part 10

Dean was expecting Sam to be back with the kids at any moment, so when he heard a vehicle pull up, he didn’t think much of it. The honk of a horn, though, was unusual, so he looked out the window. Whoever had driven up their drive was definitely not Sam. Dean might consider Sam's SUV as proof that his brother had questionable taste in vehicles, but there was no way that even Sam would be caught dead in the van was slowly coming to a stop behind their house.

After wiping his hands on a towel, Dean limped to the kitchen door and out onto the back porch. The driver of the van finished parking and, once he got out, Dean had no problem identifying who it was.

“Bobby!” Dean greeted him happily. He was glad to see the other hunter and knew that the family owed the man a debt of gratitude. “What the hell are you driving? It looks like a pimp mobile for soccer moms.”

Gratitude or not, there was no way that Bobby could pull a monstrosity like that into his driveway and not be given shit about it.

Bobby took off his ever-present baseball cap and scratched his head before flopping it back on. “Yeah, it’s a bit flashy all right.”

‘Flashy’ was an understatement. The van was cherry red and had flags and eagles painted all over it. 

“But you should see the inside,” Bobby slid the side door open and Dean took a look at the interior.

Whistling long and low, he hobbled over for a closer inspection. The inside was unbelievably cushy, with oversized seats that looked like easy chairs more than they did designed for a van’s interior. There was thick carpeting and small video screens installed right into the back of the front seats.

“I borrowed it from a friend,” Bobby said with obvious pride. “It’s a long drive to Nebraska for a guy with a hand as badly busted as Ash’s is. This way, he’ll be as comfortable as we can make him.”

Dean’s smile gentled. “He’ll appreciate that.” His smirk made a reappearance. “And he’ll probably think the looks of the van are cool too.”

Bobby shook his head. “Maybe the old Ash. . . he’s a little subdued nowadays.”

“That’s too bad.” And it was. Dean had always appreciated Ash’s personal style.

“So your dad says that Danny’s talking again,” Bobby stated after an awkward silence. “That’s good.”

“Yeah and he’s making up for lost time,” Dean replied, not trying to hide his obvious relief at that development. “Stick around long enough and he’ll talk your leg off.”

“Well, I’m just stopping by to see how you guys are doing,” Bobby replied. “Everything else okay? Boys still nervous about dogs?”

Dean had been expecting the question ever since he realized it was Bobby in the van. Honestly, he wasn’t quite sure what to tell the man. The boys’ latest ‘assignment’ from Dr. Banyon was to find a picture of Xena or Joxer and be prepared to tell him their favorite story about their dog. The boys had been excited at first, but the prod to their memories made them realize how much they missed their pets. Both boys had woken crying for the dogs and the brothers had had their hands full comforting them. On a logical level, Dean knew they had to grieve, but it was difficult for him to watch.

“The doc’s pleased with how they’re doing,” Dean finally said. “They’re still a bit nervous, but he says that’s normal and that they’re getting better. They miss Xena and Joxer, though. I suppose that’s better than being afraid of the memory of them, but. . . it’s hard.”

Bobby nodded. “I have something that might help. . . .”

Before he could go into detail, an SUV turned in at the end of the drive. Dean grinned. He knew it was essential for the kids to get back into their routines, but he’d really missed them during the day this week. He was glad it was Friday and that they’d have the whole weekend.

Sam parked next to the van and the boys slowly got out. Dean was a little surprised at how cautious they were being until he realized that they connected their Uncle Bobby with dogs.

“It’s okay, guys,” he called out to reassure his sons. “It’s just Uncle Bobby, he didn’t bring any four-footed friends.”

“Well, actually. . . .” Bobby started to say, but was interrupted by two small bodies impacting with his own. “Hey, you little ankle biters!”

“Danny’s an ankle biter,” Michael corrected him, laughing. “I’m a rug rat, remember?”

“Hi, Uncle Bobby,” Danny yelled, as if to make up for his earlier silence by sheer sound volume alone.

“Hey there,” Bobby reached down and picked Danny up, settling the boy on his hip. “Glad to hear you there, kiddo.”

“I’s talk good now,” Danny told him, smiling from ear to ear.

“You’re talking well,” Sam corrected gently.

Danny obediently parroted his father. “You’re talking well.”

Dean grinned. Sam’s battle over Danny’s grammar had only begun and from the looks of it, it was going to a prolonged effort.

“Are you going to stay with us again?” Michael asked, hanging on to Bobby’s free arm.

“Nope, I’m gonna help your grandpa and Miss Ellen bring Ash home,” Bobby explained. “What do you think of the ride I borrowed?

Both boys looked at the van.

“Cool!” Danny declared.

“It looks like it belongs in a parade,” Michael stated, eyes wide.

Sam nodded. “Ash’ll like it, although it’s hardly inconspicuous.”

Bobby snorted. “And the Impala isn’t?”

“DeeDee can’t drive until his leg gets better,” Michael offered. “So no Impala for a while.”

“Oooh, I bet that makes him cranky,” Bobby smirked. “Your daddy does like his car.”

Dean glared at him and Bobby chuckled, low and nasty.

Bobby set Danny down and squatted so he could more easily address both children. “Guys, I have a job for you. That is, if you think you can handle it.”

“We can,” Danny assured him, bouncing at the thought of helping his beloved uncle with something.

Michael was a little more cautious. “What kind of job?

Bobby glanced up at first Dean and then Sam before answering. “There’s this fella I know, that breeds beagles. You know what a beagle is?”

“A dog like Snoopy, right?” Michael asked.

Charles Shultz, the creator of the Peanuts characters, had been dead for a long time, but he’d been a local celebrity and the newspapers still ran reruns of his cartoons.

“Like Snoopy,” Bobby confirmed. “Now this guy had a beagle mamma dog who had so many puppies that she couldn’t take care of them all.”

Dean did not like where this conversation was going. He cleared his throat and shifted from foot to foot, but Bobby ignored him. The bastard.

“What’ll happen to the babies?” Michael asked, a miniature of Sam’s trademarked expression of concern on his face. 

Stifling a groan, Dean knew that they’d lost already. He glanced at Sam and saw the knowledge on his brother’s face too. Sam gave him a lopsided grin and shrugged his shoulders.

“Well now, that’s where you two come in,” Bobby answered the boy. “I told my friend that I knew two boys that were good with dogs and very responsible. . . so he sent two of the puppies with me for you to take care of.”

“Puppies?” Danny asked. “Do they bite?”

“Nope, they’re too little,” Bobby assured him. “See, I’ll show you.”

Bobby went to the passenger side of the van and opened the door. Only then did Dean see the large wooden crate that was sitting on the seat. Bobby picked it up carefully and put it down on the ground, where the shadow cast by the van provided shade.

In spite of himself, Dean leaned in to get a good look. The bottom of the box was lined with a thick layer of towels and over that was shredded newspaper. Nestled into the soft covering were two small puppies.

“Oh,” Danny breathed, once again speechless.

“They’re cute,” Michael said grinning. He reached out a finger and gently stroked the closest puppies head. When it didn’t growl or bite him, he got a bit more adventurous and used his whole hand to pet it.

“They’re brothers,” Bobby told them. He finally looked up at the older Winchesters and seeing from their faces that they weren’t going to kill him, relaxed a little. “My friend says that if you raise them, you can keep them. He just wants the pups to have a good home.”

Upon seeing that his brother wasn’t having his hand ripped off by the animals, Danny reached in to pet the other puppy.

“Gentle now, Dann-o,” Dean cautioned. “They’re just babies.”

“I’s gentle,” Danny assured him. He touched the puppy and broke out into a big grin. “He’s soft.”

“I’m gentle,” Sam corrected him. Then kneeling down next to the boys, he reached in and petted the puppy too. “And he’s very soft.”

“How do we take care of them, Uncle Bobby?” Michael asked eagerly.

“Yeah, Uncle Bobby, how do we take care of them?” Dean said, a little more pointedly.

“They’ll need to be bottle fed for a couple more weeks,” Bobby explained. “Don’t worry, I brought all the supplies with me.”

“Can I pick one up?” Michael asked. The puppy he was petting had woken up and was snuggling close to his hand.

“I tell you what, fellas, let’s take this inside,” Bobby suggested. “We don’t want the babies to get cold.”

A few minutes later saw each boy situated in a kitchen chair, his chosen puppy curled up against his chest while being fed a bottle. Sam had the camera going and even Dean’s opposition temporary melted at the sight.

“Ewwww. . . . I think mine’s leaking,” Danny wrinkled his nose up. Sure enough, his puppy had peed all over his shirt.

“Hang on a minute,” Sam took the steps at a trot, headed for the laundry room downstairs. 

While he was gone, Dean wiped the little boy down with a paper towel. “That’s the thing with puppies, kiddo. They’re like babies and don’t know to tell us when they need to go outside.”

Danny let his father pull the shirt over his head, the puppy having been transferred into Bobby’s hands. “Don’t they make puppy diapers?”

“Nope. You’re just going to have to put up with a little puppy pee if you want to keep him,” Dean cautioned.

“That’s okay,” Michael commented. “Danny peed all over stuff when we first got him, but we kept him anyway.”

Sam came back up and not only had a clean shirt for Danny, but a couple of old towels too. Soon, Danny was again fully clothed and had resumed feeding his new dog, with the puppy carefully wrapped in a towel. It didn’t take long for the bottles to be emptied and, at Bobby’s suggestion, the box was carried into the living room. Once it was placed on the floor, Sam and Dean convinced the boys to let their puppies, now asleep, curl back into to. As the boys began discussing names for their new pets, the adults moved away a short distance.

“Now, boys,” Bobby started before either Sam or Dean could say anything. “I know I should have asked first, but the way I figure it, there’s not a child in the world that can stay scared of a dog that he’s hand raised. Beagles are small, so they’ll make good house dogs and they can live up to twenty years, so they’ll grow with your boys. The breeder I got them from is a good one and not a puppy mill. These are quality dogs.”

Dean stifled a grin, not used to seeing stoic Bobby Singer babbling. He couldn’t help but needle the older hunter. “So a quality breeder didn’t have anybody but a couple of kids who could’ve helped raise these pups?”

Bobby looked sheepish. “Well, I might have had to convince him about that part, but once I told him about how the boys lost their other dogs, he was happy to help out.”

“It’s fine, Bobby,” Sam let him off the hook. “In fact, I think it was a great idea.”

Trying not to look relieved, and failing miserably, Bobby smiled. “And they’re good pack animals too, so when I get the other two dogs trained, they’ll fit right in.”

“Other two dogs?” Sam looked a little pale. “What other two dogs?”

“Don’t get me wrong, beagles are great dogs and loyal to their owners,” Bobby said. “But they wouldn’t have slowed Gordon Walker down much. No, these two will be pets for the boys and I’ll train ‘em up a couple of guard dogs.”

“Four dogs?” Dean questioned.

“You’re far out enough that you’re zoned for it,” Bobby said quickly. “I checked. And your house is big enough too and you’ve got plenty of grounds for them to run in too.”

“Hey,” Michael called out. “I’m gonna name mine Egon.”

Dean couldn’t help but chuckle. “Looks like we’re gonna have four dogs.” He elbowed Sam. “And it also looks like your son never forgave you for not letting him name Danny Egon either.”

“Better the dog than his brother,” Sam snorted.

“Yuck. . . .” Danny said, although his voice sounded more gleeful than disgusted. “Mine pooped.”

Bobby chuckled and Dean glared at him. He knew full well who would be home and therefore on puppy duty once Sam was back at school.

“You. Suck.” He told Bobby, then softened when he looked over and saw his kids so happy. “Thanks.”

“Anytime, Dean-o,” Bobby answered smugly. “Any time.”

~to be continued in Healing part 11~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted July 29, 2007


	57. Healing, part 11

By the next day, the new additions were firmly entrenched in the Winchesters’ lives. Bobby had explained that the puppies probably would feed exclusively from a bottle for only another week or so and then soft food could be added. Sam was just glad that there were no middle of the night feedings necessary; they’d had enough of those when the boys were newborns. Although Michael’s puppy had been quickly named, Danny still hadn’t settled on a choice.

“How ‘bout Spot?” Danny asked. “He’s got spots.”

Both puppies were the common tri-colored pattern of beagle. They were more splotched than spotted, but Sam wasn’t going to argue semantics with a four year-old.

“Spot’s good,” Dean stated. He slid a bowl of cereal in front of his youngest. “A classic. Now go wash your hands before you eat, you’ve got puppy all over them.”

The puppies had been fed and cuddled earlier. They were curled up in the box, asleep.

“Spot’s a baby name,” Michael scoffed as his brother headed towards the bathroom. “You could name yours Venkman, then he’d match Egon.”

“Is not a baby name!” Danny protested, at full volume. “Don’t want no stupid Venkman.”

“Danny, inside voice,” Sam prompted. He couldn’t believe that less than a week ago, they’d been praying for Danny to talk again and now he was having to shush him. “Quit stalling and go wash your hands. Michael, Danny can name his puppy whatever he wants, just like you did yours. Ghostbusters is your favorite movie, not his.”

“Great,” Michael’s face screwed up with disgust. “He’ll probably name it Puffycat, after that dragon movie he likes so much.”

The younger Winchester was nearly obsessed with an animated movie about a baby dragon that was raised by a cat and grew up thinking it was one.

Dean poked the older boy. “Don’t give him any ideas.” When Sam glared at him, Dean shrugged. “What? I don’t want to be a gay man with a dog named Puffycat.”

“You’d be a father with a dog named Puffycat,” Sam kissed him. “And you’d learn to like it too.”

Danny came back into the room and the conversation stopped. Despite what he said, Sam didn’t really want a dog named Puffycat either. He noticed, though, that the boy looked frustrated.

“What’s the matter?” He asked him.

“It’s hard thinking of a name,” Danny explained as he clambered up onto his chair. Dean poured the milk on Danny’s cereal and he started to eat.

“Some people name a pet because of how they look, like when you were thinking of Spot,” Sam suggested. “Some people use a character from a favorite book or movie, like Michael did.”

“It doesn’t have to be from a movie,” Dean quickly added. When Sam glared at him, he clarified. “You could name the puppy after anything you like.”

“Really?” Danny’s face lit up, but then quickly fell again.

“What’s the matter?” Dean prompted.

“I was gonna name him Impala, but I can’t.” The little boy’s sigh seemed too big for his body.

Sam frowned. “Why not? Impala’s a good name.”

Danny gave him a look of pure exasperation. “The Impala’s a girl, DaSa,” he stated in tone that clearly showed that his younger father was a little slow. “And it’s a boy puppy. I can’t give a girl name to a boy.”

His son was so serious that Sam bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Dean passed behind him and casually flicked his brother on the ear.

“That’s right, Danny,” Dean gave Sam a warning glare. “The Impala’s a girl, a real babe, if I might add. But if you wanted, you can name your puppy after the kind of car she is.”

“A gas guzzler?” Sam murmured, too softly for either son to hear.

Dean gave Sam a quelling look. “You could name the puppy Chevy.”

“Chevy,” Danny repeated, trying the name on for size. “I like it!”

Sam rolled his eyes; of course he liked it. Danny, and Michael too, were every bit as crazy about the Impala as their older father was. Still, even Sam had to admit that it was a lot better than Puffycat.

“It’s a good name,” Michael reluctantly admitted. “Even if it’s not as good as Venkman would have been.”

The rest of the morning was spent doing chores, the little mundane things that still felt special, compared to the weeks of hell they’d endured with Gordon Walker after them. Sam never thought that the kids whining about having to pick up their rooms would sound like music in his ears, but it did.

Michael and Danny wanted to help Dean do his exercises, which was a mixed blessing. With the kids there, Dean was less likely to overdo it, but he would also try to hide any discomfort the movements caused him. Sam supervised. Knowing the kids, they’d want to ride Dean’s leg while he did his leg lifts and, knowing Dean, he’d let them.

Sam was standing closest to the window, so he was the one that heard vehicles outside. He hardly needed to look out the window to see Bobby’s borrowed van. The damn thing practically glowed.

“Boys, they’re here,” Sam called out.

Michael and Danny wanted to take their puppies outside, but their fathers convinced them that it would be best to bring the others in to see them. By the time the discussion was over with, Sam had helped Dean to his feet and they went out to greet their visitors as a family.

John had parked his truck next to the van and was coming around the side, holding hands with his wife.

“Grandpa!”

Sam knew what was coming next and put a supporting hand on the small of Dean’s back.

“Grandma!”

He felt Dean flinch a little when Danny called out ‘Grandma’ to Liddy, something Sam had expected. Dean had given his explicit permission, but discussing the name was a lot different than actually hearing it in use.

“I’m all right, Sam,” Dean turned to look at his brother. 

“It takes a little getting used to,” Sam commented. “Even for me.” 

“It should have been Mom, but it isn’t,” Dean stated quietly. “That’s not Liddy’s fault. Mom’s been gone for a long time; she’d just want Dad and us to be happy. Liddy does that and Mom’d be the last person to begrudge her the coveted Grandma title.”

Sam smiled knowingly. Dean was not the brute he liked people to think he was and Sam loved that he was one of the few people that got to see that side of his brother.

“I love you,” Sam said softly.

“You damn well better,” Dean grumbled as he started towards the van. 

The boys were yammering at their grandparents, giving details on the pups and their names. John and Liddy were looking from face to excited face, trying to keep up with the recitation. Michael and Danny didn’t notice Ellen opening the side door of the van at first, or Bobby coming around the side. Sam’s breath caught, though, when Bobby helped a fragile-looking Ash out of the back of the vehicle.

He’d thought that Ash had looked bad, huddled in the park that night. At least then it had been dark and they’d barely been able to see the other man’s injuries. In the harsh daylight, Ash looked so pale he was almost transparent. A large baseball hat was perched precariously on his head and his ears stuck out underneath the edge. He was also sporting a blue sling that supported his arm. Sam expected some sort of cast, but instead Ash’s hand was in a soft covering. It had what looked like a large mitten over it, hiding the researcher’s fingers. Sam was glad of that. The boys were going to be shell-shocked enough as it was. 

With Ellen’s help, Ash hobbled closer to the Winchesters. Sam looked down and saw that Ash’s feet were incased in large, fabric boots. Sam wondered why for a moment and then remembered that Walker had torn off all of Ash’s toenails. 

Both children’s voices trailed off as they got a good look at the injured man. Sam was grateful that he and Dean had made it to their side by then, as both boys edged closer to their fathers. Sam put a comforting hand on Michael’s shoulder and he noticed that Dean did the same with Danny, putting a hand on the four year-old’s head and encouraging him to stand close.

“Hey, little dudes,” Ash greeted them, but Sam noticed that he wouldn’t look anyone in the eyes.

“Hi, Uncle Ash,” Michael said.

Sam worried for a moment that Danny had gone silent again, but his son surprised him.

“You have an owie,” Danny announced.

Ash nodded. “Yeah.”

“Does it hurt?” Michael asked softly. With Danny present, hopefully he wasn’t feeling any echoes of Ash’s pain.

“Nah,” Ash’s eyes flicked over to them and then quickly away again. “Docs gave me the good pills.”

“When I have an owie, DeeDee or DaSa kisses it for me,” Danny stated. 

Ash’s smile was wan. “Does it help?”

“Yup.” Danny nodded. “You want me to kiss it for you?”

“Sure, dude,” Ash replied, actually meeting the child’s gaze. “I could use all the help I can get.”

Dean let Danny loose and the little boy marched over to Ash. Sam was going to warn him to be gentle, but he could tell as Danny approached Ash that he didn’t need to. Danny went right up to Ash and leaning forward, kissed the back of Ash’s hand. He stepped back and looked up into Ash’s face expectantly.

“Dude,” Ash was blinking rapidly. “It feels better already. Thanks.”

Danny nodded solemnly. “I’s a good kisser.”

When the adults got done laughing, Michael leaned over to Sam. “DaSa, why does everyone always look at DeeDee when Danny says stuff like that?”

Dean had overheard and answered before Sam could. “I don’t know, Mikey, I just don’t know.”

“We need to get Ash inside and off his feet,” Ellen ordered. She’d been at his side the whole time and hadn’t joined in the laughter.

“I’m okay, Ellen,” Ash protested.

“The hell you are,” she retorted. “You can’t even stand straight. You’re going to sit down before you fall down. You can do that inside or back in the van, it’s up to you.”

Ash sighed. “Inside.”

“You can meet our puppies,” Michael told Ash. He walked at Ash’s side while Ellen took Ash’s good arm and led him forward. 

“I’ll just stay out here,” John said awkwardly. “Make sure the vehicles are all set for a road trip.” Liddy hesitated as though to stay with him, but he gave her a gentle push towards the house. “Go on, the boys want to show you their dogs.”

Liddy kissed John quickly. “I’ll only be a few minutes.” She gave Sam a sad look, but walked passed him without saying anything. 

Sam sighed and followed his brother into the house. The entire time that the boys were introducing Liddy and Ash to the pups and proudly showing Bobby how well they could take care of them, Sam was aware of his father outside. He kept glancing out the window and seeing his dad puttering around the vehicles. Once when he looked, he saw his father gazing at the house, an expression of such longing on his face that Sam had to look away.

Since he was distracted, Sam noticed that Ellen wasn’t with them. He frowned, remembering her getting Ash settled into a comfortable chair and then. . . nothing. He looked outside again; Ellen wasn’t in the back with his father. Getting up quietly, Sam snuck out the front.

Ellen was sitting on the edge of the front porch, her back to the front door. Sam’s nose told him what she was doing before Ellen turned and he saw the cigarette in her hand.

“It’s a nasty habit. I quit years ago, but. . . .” she said nervously and then took another drag. “I didn’t want the boys to see.”

Sam walked over and sat beside her. “Ash looks pretty good.”

She nodded. “He’s tough. He’s gonna be alright.” 

“And how are you doing” Sam asked gently. He’d noticed how red her eyes were and how her hands shook.

“I’m hanging in there,” Ellen replied. “Ash lets me fuss, it helps. When I slow down is when I have time to think and then. . . .” She lifted her cigarette to her lips again.

“Do you,” Sam hesitated. “Would you like to see the kitchen?”

Her breathing hitched. “No. Maybe sometime when the kids aren’t around, but not now. Not yet.”

Sam put a hand on her shoulder. “Is there anything we can do?”

“Yeah,” Ellen took a shaky breath. “But you’re aren’t going to like it.”

Looking into her eyes, Sam knew exactly what she was going to say. “No. No way.”

“Sam,” Ellen sighed. “You are too much like your father for your own good.”

The comment made Sam angry, but one look at Ellen’s ravaged face and it was beyond him to snipe at her. 

“Your father is an easy man to be angry at,” Ellen stated. “Lord knows, I spent years being furious at him for my husband, Bill’s, death. If there’s one thing I learned, though, is that kind of anger is a waste.” Her eyes teared up and she had to look away. “I think on the minutes I spent being angry at Jo and I’d give anything to have every one of those minutes back.”

Sam stood. “I appreciate your pain, Ellen, and I’m sorry for your loss, but this isn’t the same thing at all.” He started to walk away.

“You just think on what I said,” Ellen called after him. “You never know which conversation is going to be the last one, not until it’s too late. And with what your father does. . . promise me you’ll think on it.”

“I will,” Sam vowed as he went inside.

But he wouldn’t promise anything more.

~to be continued in Healing part 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on July 30, 2007


	58. Healing - part 12

Dean Winchester didn’t do alone well. Growing up, he hadn’t had a lot of friends, but then again, he hadn’t needed many. He had Sam. When Sam left for college, Dean still had his father. He did some solo hunts, but they were usually of short duration. When his dad went AWOL, Dean had made a beeline for Sam. They’d been inseparable until Dean had gotten pregnant, but ended up working construction together after Dean recovered from Michael’s birth. It had been Dean who’d encouraged Sam to go back to school, which had been a sacrifice. He’d hidden how hard it had been not to be with Sam all day, but eventually he’d adjusted.

After spending the last couple of weeks together because of Gordon Walker, Sam had gone back to the university Monday morning. He probably would have taken another week, but it was the first day of the new semester and he would be missing a couple of days for their upcoming trip to the Mayo Clinic. Dean knew the necessity of it, but after everyone else was gone, felt like he was rattling around in the house, alone and useless.

A mewling noise from the wooden crate reminded him that he wasn’t quite alone after all.

“Come on, fellas,” Dean looked down at the puppies. “Those are the kind of noises that kittens are supposed to make. Aren’t you supposed to woof or bark or something?”

Despite his complaints, he reached in to pet them. The nearest puppy, Chevy, grabbed Dean’s finger and started sucking on it. “Greedy bastard, I just fed you.”

The phone rang and Dean smirked. Sammy’d been gone two hours already and hadn’t called to check up on him yet. He’d been beginning to wonder. Dean was tempted to answer the phone with something witty and cute, but since it was the landline instead of his cell, he wasn’t absolutely positive that it was Sam.

“Winchester,” he spoke into the receiver. It was close enough to the kitchen table that the box was situated on that he could still pet the puppies.

“Mr. Winchester?” A female voice asked. “This is Anna Miller from the Nicollet County Canine Unit.”

It took Dean a minute to remember why she might be calling them. “Oh yeah. You’re the ones who offered to do a memorial for Xena and Joxer.”

“Yes, sir. And let me say again how sorry we are for your loss,” she answered, sounding relieved that he knew who she was.

“Thanks,” Dean replied awkwardly. Sam was much better at this kind of thing than he was. “And thanks for, you know, taking care of their bodies.”

“That’s why I’m calling, Mr. Winchester,” Miller explained. “We still want to do the memorial, but I have some exciting news.”

Dean had a feeling he probably wouldn’t find her news as exciting as she obviously did, but at least a few of Sam’s lessons on being polite stuck with him, because he managed to sound interested when he responded. “What’s that?”

“We received permission to convert the park where you and your sons were attacked into a dog park,” she gushed. “We would like to put an engraved marker there, to commemorate what your pets did for your children.”

It didn’t take long for Dean to realize that it was a good idea. That park had been the boys’ favorite, mostly because of the wooden fort it had and the fact it was never crowded. The other kids in the area preferred a new playground that had been built nearby. Michael and Danny probably wouldn’t want to go back, though, not after what had happened.

“That sounds great,” Dean told her, with genuine enthusiasm. “We’d like that a lot.”

“The only problem is that, because of some construction work that's needed and, especially, landscaping, we can’t break ground until spring,” she sounded apologetic. “I hope that’s okay. We cremated Xena and Joxer for you, if you need their ashes before then, we can certainly provide them to you.”

Dean thought about it. “What were you planning on doing with them?” He couldn’t imagine that they would be sprinkled on public ground.

“We thought about burying them by the memorial marker,” she told him. “But, of course, that’s really up to you.”

“Let me talk to my husband about it,” Dean said. “And the kids.” Personally, he thought it would be a good idea to wait a while, until the grief wasn’t quite so fresh, but it was too big of a decision for him to make alone.

“That’s understandable, just let us know whenever it’s convenient for you,” she said. After a couple of more niceties, Dean was able to hang up.

“What do you think about that?” Dean asked the puppies. “Some day you’re going to have a place to run and play because of Xena and Joxer.” 

Egon took Dean’s finger this time and he smiled as the pup tried to suck on it. “Dudes, we gotta get your minds off your stomachs.”

He considered the box carefully. Even with the gunshot to his back mostly healed, Dean was on lifting restrictions. Nothing over ten pounds, which was why Sam had placed the puppies’ crate on the kitchen table before he left. Since Dean didn’t bend well either, he’d be able to reach the puppies easier from that height. There was a blanket underneath it to protect the table’s surface and bricks to either side, to keep the puppies’ wiggling from causing it to move. Knowing Sam, he’d probably measured the exact distance from the sides too, so he’d know at a glance if Dean had picked it up.

“All right, you tell anybody that I did this and I’ll call you a stinking liar.” 

They had a pile of old towels at the ready and Dean grabbed one. After spreading it out, he first placed one puppy on it and then the other. Once they were loosely wrapped in it, he picked the bundle up. 

“Okay, even Sammy can’t say that’s ten pounds,” Dean muttered as he hefted it.

Dean walked into the family room and awkwardly laid down on the couch. He kept the puppies cradled on his chest, using the towel as barrier in case of any accidents. Egon and Chevy settled down once he stopped moving, burrowing into his warmth. Dean petted them with one hand and reached for the TV remote with the other. “Okay, boys, I’m gonna introduce you to a nice lady named Oprah.”

All three of them ended up napping and it was the smell that woke Dean.

“Holy shit,” Dean muttered. “Literally.” He took another sniff and grimaced. “Okay, on second thought there’s nothing holy about that smell.”

Getting up from the couch was even more awkward than laying down had been and Dean finally set the puppies on the cushion, got up, and then reached for them. He limped to the kitchen and put the puppies back in their box and then set about cleaning them up. When he was done, he opened the door to the basement steps and tossed all the soiled towels down. Since Dean would be handling the bulk of the puppy care during the day, Sam was on laundry duty.

“That’ll be nice and ripe by the time he gets home,” Dean’s chuckle was a little bit evil. He loved Sam more than life itself, but a puppy had just crapped on top of him. Sam deserved to get his hands a little bit dirty too.

The phone rang again and this time, Dean was correct that it was his brother.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Sam sounded worried.

“Nope,” Dean didn’t bother to tell Sam that the puppies had already taken care of that for him. “Me and the pups are just hanging out.”

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Sam pointed out.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yes, mother.” He didn’t want to let on that he was grinning like a fool. Just Sam’s voice made him feel less lonely. “Dude, I am resting. It’s not like the mutts are up for a game of fetch or anything.” He decided that the best defense was a good offense. “How’s your head? Not causing you to bleed from any body orifices or anything, is it?”

He could hear Sam’s sigh. “No.” A warm chuckle followed. “Truce?”

“Truce,” Dean agreed. “Hey, the dog lady called.” He then proceeded to explain about the dog park.

“That’s a great idea,” Sam replied. “I think the boys will really love that.”

“Yeah, I think so too,” Dean concurred. “And how are the little kiddies? Got any geniuses so far?”

“Just the usual, mostly kids who just want some easy credits. A couple of them looked genuinely interested.” Sam told him. 

“Yeah, they’re interested all right; interested in your ass,” Dean huffed. “Looks like I’ll have to come out there again.”

“Rose would like that,” Sam retorted. “But you’ll do a better job looking menacing when you’re not limping.” The smile left his voice. “They have a security guard assigned to my building.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, let me guess, a rent-a-cop with a belly bigger than his gun.”

“Hey, Richard’s a nice guy,” Sam sounded like he was torn between being amused and defensive. “They’re just trying to make me feel secure and the students to feel safe coming to my class.”

“I’ve met Richard,” Dean commented, having recognized the name. Apparently the university had used one of their own security staff members instead a rent-a-cop. “He’s older than Dad. Gordon Walker would have eaten him alive.”

“Yeah, well, he can still call 911,” Sam pointed out. “That would have been a big help.”

“I suppose,” Dean admitted, reluctantly. “When are you coming home?”

“Right after my afternoon lecture,” Sam assured him. “I figure we can go pick the boys up together. Look, I better go if I’m going to manage to eat anything before class.” His voice took on a suspicious tone. “Have you had lunch yet?”

“Not yet.” Dean braced himself for some nagging and Sam didn’t disappoint.

“Dean, you’ve got to eat to keep your strength up,” Sam lectured him. “Especially now that you’ve got those exercises to do.”

Dean grinned. Sometimes it was all too easy to wind Sammy up. “Yes, ma’am. Right away, ma’am.” When Sam growled, he chuckled. “Seriously, I will. Just gotta feed the pups and then I’ll have something too.”

“Yeah, well, you better,” Sam warned, before saying goodbye.

After hanging up the phone, Dean addressed the pups again. “Uh-huh, we’re in trouble. The big dog’s mad at us.” He stopped speaking, realizing that he was having a conversation with tiny puppies. Worse yet, he was halfway expecting them to answer him.

“Man, I have got to get out of the house.”

~to be continued in Healing, part 13~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted July 30, 2007


	59. Healing, part 13

“Remember, Grandpa’s going to pick you up this afternoon,” Sam reminded Michael as he exited the SUV.

“I’ll remember,” the eight year-old assured him, hitching his backpack further up on his shoulder. “Is your head hurting now?”

They’d told Michael and Danny that Sam was going to a special headache doctor and did their best to act casual about it so that the boys wouldn’t worry. Sam was actually pleased at Michael’s question. They’d dropped Danny off first, so Michael asking meant that their emotion blocking was working well. Sometimes Sam worried that they got lazy in their barrier techniques, since Danny repressed Michael’s ability.

“No, not at all,” Sam assured him.

Dean leaned over to address their son. “Don’t worry, Mikey, I’ll take good care of him.”

“And I’ll help Grandpa and Grandma with Danny and the puppies,” Michael’s expression was serious. “Grandpa’s never fed a puppy before.”

After waving at his fathers, their son joined a group of children headed towards the school.

“He’s a worry wart, just like you,” Dean commented.

Sam shook his head. “No, he’s an oldest child, just like you.”

It was another old argument and there was no heat in their comments. After Michael entered the building, Sam put the SUV in drive and headed towards their next destination.

“Hey, don’t accelerate so fast,” Dean complained. “The crate is belted in, but the puppies aren’t.”

It took most of Sam’s formidable self control not to laugh. Dean complained about the puppies, but had grown quite protective of them. Sam admitted that feeding and cleaning up after them was a major pain in the ass, but they made the boys happy. If they also kept Dean company during the day while he was laid up, it was an added bonus.

Their dad and Liddy had made it back from Nebraska in time to take care of the boys while Sam and Dean were at the Mayo Clinic. With Bobby giving Michael and Danny the dogs, they became part of the babysitting package. The brothers would be leaving for Rochester right after lunch, but had arranged to drop the pups off with their dad that morning. John would pick Michael up from school and Liddy would just bring Danny home with her from the daycare center, but the puppies couldn’t be left alone the entire day.

Sam pulled the SUV up in front of his father’s townhouse and took a deep breath. He still had no desire to be anywhere near his dad. Unfortunately, though, Dean still couldn’t drive and having John coming out to their house to get the dogs was just as bad.

“I’ll take them in,” Dean offered, sensing Sam’s mood.

“Don’t be an idiot, you can’t,” Sam corrected him. “The box is too heavy for you.”

Sam got out of the SUV and Dean did the same. Sam went around the back to get the puppies, while Dean carried the smaller cardboard box that held all of the supplies. By the time they walked up to the door, John was waiting for them.

“Hello, boys,” John drawled as he held the door open for them. “Those are the pups, huh? Bring them right in. Liddy fixed the coffee table for ‘em.”

His father wasn’t exactly known as the nurturing type, except where his grandsons were concerned, so Sam had been dreading his reaction at needing to bottle feed and clean two puppies. He was surprised, then, to see his dad’s face gentle after the box was carefully set down. John reached in and stroked each pup. Sam exchanged a startled glance with Dean, but his brother just shrugged.

When he sensed his sons’ eyes on him, John looked up. “Liddy loves babies,” he shrugged sheepishly. “All types of babies. She’s been looking forward to this.”

Something about the tenderness in his dad’s face embarrassed Sam and reminded him that he was mad at his father. “I’ll wait outside,” he said abruptly and all but ran out of the townhouse. 

It was several more minutes before Dean came out, but that was to be expected. Michael had used the computer the night before to write out instructions for the puppies’ care until he and Danny got home, but knowing Dean, he wanted to go over them anyway. 

Sam waited in the SUV until he saw his brother exit the house, waiting to start the vehicle until Dean was halfway to him. 

“All settled?” Sam asked after Dean had gotten and buckled up.

“Yup,” Dean responded. “Dad was telling me that Sheriff Randall has been in touch with Ash. He’s been officially cleared in Gordon Walker’s shooting.”

Sam felt a tiny knot in his stomach relax. He understood and was thankful for why Ash took responsibility for Gordon Walker’s death, but would have hated anything bad to happen to the other man because of it. “Good.”

“It seems they’re convinced Gordy was just a nutcase,” Dean went on to say. “The authorities tracked his family down and the Walkers still hold a grudge for how Gordon killed his sister. They refused to claim his body, so he’ll end up in a pauper’s grave. I’d say that’s a pretty fitting end to him.”

“Yeah,” Sam knew it was petty, but was glad that even Gordon Walker’s family had turned their backs on him.

Their next stop was the physical therapist and, this time, Dean had dressed in sweats so he didn’t have to change. Dean again had Michael Jordan as his therapist and the other man wasn’t too pleased with his patient.

“Now, Mr. Winchester, I thought you said you wouldn’t overdo it,” Jordan chided him. 

“I didn’t,” Dean claimed.

Sam was thankful that he’d insisted on coming back to the treatment room with Dean. He’d done it knowing full well that Dean would be doing the same to him at the Mayo. 

“You can put away those innocent eyes,” the therapist grinned. “They might have worked on your mamma when she caught you with a hand in the cookie jar, but I know better. Muscles don’t lie and yours are tattling on you.”

From the guilty look on Dean’s face, he’d probably been a little too zealous while doing his exercises the day before. It had been Dean’s first day alone and without Sam’s watchful supervision. Sam had known it right away, simply because Dean was still on the floor when Sam had gotten home. Dean had claimed he’d just finished, but Sam knew better. Dean’s sweat had cooled, indicating that it had been at least several minutes since he’d finished. He’d insisted that Dean take a hot shower and he’d looked a lot less strained afterwards.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to nag you none,” Jordan continued cheerfully. “Looking at the other Mr. Winchester’s face, you’ll get plenty of that later.”

Dean shot Sam a glance. “Oh, great.”

The rest of the appointment went without incident, until it was time to leave.

“I got you a temporary parking permit,” Jordan offered Dean a bright blue placard. “It’s good for thirty days. With that leg of yours, I thought it might come in handy.”

“No thanks,” Dean’s back was stiff with pride as he limped out of the room. “Keep it for someone who’s hurt.”

“Thanks anyway,” Sam told the therapist as he followed Dean out the door.

There was no conversation between the brothers until they got back to the SUV. Dean’s limp was noticeably worse, but Sam managed to keep his mouth shut.

“Not a word, Sammy,” Dean barked as he pulled himself into the passenger seat. “Not one word.”

“What?” Sam defended himself. “I didn’t say anything.”

Dean slammed his door shut. “You didn’t have to. You’ve got your bitch face on.”

Sam knew exactly the expression that Dean was talking about. His brother described it as Sam looking constipated while sucking on a lemon. He’d accused Dean of exaggerating, until one day when Dean had made him look into a mirror.

“And you’re swaggering like John Wayne,” Sam shot back. “I don’t think it’s because you’re wearing chaps either.”

They glared at each other. Dean broke first, with a slight twitch of his lips. “You know I’m gonna get even when we’re at the Mayo, right?”

Sam groaned. “Yes.”

“Well, then, what are you waiting for, Sammy?” Dean made an impatient gesture at the road. “Time’s wasting”

Before they could hit the road to Rochester, there were a couple of more tasks to be done. They had to return home so that Dean could change out of his sweats and, once there, Sam also insisted that his brother take a hot shower and then lay down so he could rub the worst of the kinks out of his leg.

“Not gonna work, Sammy,” Dean muttered. He was face down on the bed, in just his boxers as Sam worked the flesh of his calf. “You’re not going to distract me or make me fall asleep. We’re going.”

“Curses, foiled again,” Sam teased. 

Truthfully, even after all his attempts to get out of it, he knew that Dean was right to insist that he get his headaches checked out. Bleeding, after all, was not your usual symptom of a migraine. He slapped Dean on the ass. “Come on, you’re as unknotted as I think you’re going to be. Let’s eat lunch and then hit the road.”

Dean fluttered his eyelashes. “Don’t you think I should get dressed first?”

Sam leered at him. “If you must.”

It was with much lighter hearts that they set out for Rochester, an easy two hour drive from St. Peter. As Winchester car trips went, it was incredibly short, but Sam still insisted on stopping a couple of times. He knew that with Dean’s injury and just having PT on it, that his brother would find sitting in a car all afternoon difficult. It was an overcast day, with a definite nip in the air, so necessity kept the breaks short. Even so, it didn’t feel that long before they entered Rochester and started following the signs to their ultimate destination.

The Mayo Clinic was in downtown Rochester and seemed more like a campus than any medical facility that Sam had ever seen. It was huge and he kicked himself for letting Dean’s pride sway him. It was going to be quite a hike and they could have used the handicapped parking permit that Dean had insisted on turning down. 

Sam wasn’t easily intimidated, but he had to admit that the Mayo managed to do it to him. World leaders had been treated in its hallowed halls; he kept feeling like some sort of unworthiness alarm would sound when they walked in, even if his appointment had been made under his own name.

Dean, on the other hand, was a man on a mission. The more hesitant Sam got as they entered the lobby, the more determined Dean became. “Come on, Sammy. This way.”

For his part, Sam was content to let Dean lead. For all it was Sam’s headaches that they were there for, the whole trip had been Dean’s idea, as had been the arrangements. Sam’s appointment wasn’t until the next morning, but he’d been instructed to check in the afternoon before. When they got to the reception area and sat down with an admitting clerk, Sam could see why. The pile of admission forms was more intimidating than the Mayo itself was.

Dean took one look at it and baled. “I better go call Gina, let her know we’re here. Dad too.”

Sam sputtered, but Dean had already moved off and had his cellphone out. For an injured man, he could move quickly when he wanted to. Sighing, Sam grabbed a pen and got to work.

As it turned out, Dean rejoined him long before Sam was finished and it was a good thing he did. The medical history being requested was exhaustive and Dean remembered the details of each of Sam’s various inoculations and illnesses far better than Sam did. Dean had been practicing the ‘in sickness and in health’ portion of the traditional wedding vows long before they’d gotten married.

Finally finished with the forms, Sam handed them in and was given a medical bracelet before being told to report back at 8 am the next day.

“You’ll be starting with blood work,” the clinic staff member told him. “So you’ll need to come in fasting. Nothing but water after midnight tonight.”

“Thank you,” Sam replied politely enough, but he grimaced as they turned away. “Great. I hate fasting.”

“A little deprivation’s good for the soul,” Dean told him, far too cheerfully. “Let’s go find our hotel.”

Rochester did not have a shortage of hotels. Sam supposed if they’d looked long enough, they could have found a motel of the sleazy type they’d been used to in their younger years. Leaving those dives behind was not something Sam regretted in the least. Before long they’d found their hotel and gotten checked in. It wasn’t quite dinner time and the brothers looked at each other, at something of a loss for what to do.

“We could give the bed a workout,” Dean suggested, patting the mattress suggestively.

Sam blushed. “I don’t think so. Those doctors are going to be looking at me under microscope tomorrow.”

Dean frowned. “What does that have to do with making love tonight?”

“I dunno, it just seems like they’d take one look at me and know what I was up to,” Sam felt his flush deepen.

“Oooh, a married man having sex, there’s one they probably never see,” Dean’s sarcasm was half-hearted and he relented before Sam could respond. “But I guess if I had to go in there and drop my drawers for a doctor I didn’t know, I’d be the same way.”

“Thanks,” Sam’s gratitude was heart felt, his turning down sex could have been a blow to his brother's ego. “Hey, when you called Dad to let him know we got here okay, did you talk to the boys?”

Dean shook his head. “No, he was about to go pick Mikey up and Liddy wasn’t due home until,” Dean looked at his watch. “About twenty minutes ago.”

Sam dug out his cellphone. “Let’s call the boys.”

Remembering at the last minute that he’d be calling his father’s house, Sam tossed the phone to Dean. His brother clearly understood Sam’s reasoning, but only grimaced instead of saying anything about it.

“Hey, Mikey, didn’t expect you to answer,” Dean said, face lighting up as he talked to his son. “Oh, he is? He did?” Dean’s chuckle was not at all nice. “Well, you did try to warn him, so it’s not your fault.” Dean drew the phone away from his mouth to give Sam an explanation. “Dad wouldn’t use the towel when he was holding the pups and Egon crapped on him.”

Sam grinned. “And how much did he have to put in the swear jar for that?”

“Did you hear that, Mikey?” Dean asked. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Look, your DaSa wants to talk to you. Love you, kiddo.” 

Dean handed the phone to Sam. “Hi, Michael.”

“Your head doesn’t hurt, does it?” Michael asked. 

“A little bit,” Sam admitted. “But I might just be hungry. We’ll go get something to eat in a little while.”

“Us too. Grandpa had to take a shower, because of Egon,” Michael told him. “But you’ll take your headache medicine, right?”

“Right,” Sam assured him. “I will.” In the background, he could hear Danny’s voice. “Is that your brother?”

“Yeah, he wants to say hi, so I’m going to give him the phone now,” Michael said. “Will you call before bedtime?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Sam promised. “And you know you can call us if you want to, right? We’ll have to have the phone off tomorrow while we’re at the doctor’s, but it’ll be on all night.”

“Okay,” Michael replied. Sam felt better that his son didn’t sound overly concerned about their absence. “Love you, DaSa. Here’s Danny.” Sam could hear his oldest warn his brother about not talking too loud because their father had a headache.

“Hi, DaSa!” 

Danny hadn’t managed the niceties of telephone conversation and still felt the need to shout into the receiver. Sam had been prepared for it, though, and held the phone away from his ear. Dean sat next to him and he chuckled. Danny didn’t really need a phone, they could almost hear him all the way from St. Peter without one.

“Hi, Danny,” Sam replied. “Are you being good for Grandpa and Grandma?”

In the background, he could hear Michael chiding his brother for being so loud. 

“I’s good,” Danny promised. “I’s talking too loud?”

“A little,” Sam admitted. “Remember, inside voice.”

A big sigh. “Okay, DaSa.” Danny’s voice was quiet for a moment, then the volume rose again. “Egon pooped on Grandpa.”

“So I heard,” Sam grinned. He would have given a pretty penny to see that. “Did he like the puppies?”

“Uh-huh. He said Chevy was a good name too.”

“Yeah, I bet he did,” Sam felt Dean poke at him and realized it was time to share. “DeeDee wants to say hi. Love you, Danny.”

He handed the phone to his brother. “You tell Grandpa to listen to your brother the next time he warns him about the puppies, okay?” Dean told the boy. “Okay. Look, we’re going to call again before bedtime. Love you. Bye.”

The room seemed a little darker after Dean folded the cellphone up and handed it to Sam.

“Seems like they’re having a good time,” Dean commented.

“Yeah, I hope that we don’t get back to find that Dad’s done an exorcism on the pups or something,” Sam didn’t really think John would, but getting shit on by a puppy wouldn’t fit his regimented Marine worldview either.

“Nah, the boys love those puppies already,” his brother countered. “Dad wouldn’t hurt a hair on their head.” He looked at Sam with a glint in his eye. “You know what I’m wondering?”

Sam tilted his head, considering. “What?”

“I’m wondering if a town like Rochester, Minnesota has a pool table,” Dean made his way to his feet. “Want to find out?”

It sounded like a great idea to Sam; it felt like forever since they’d been out to have a good time. “Don’t mind if I do.” 

Rochester did, in fact, have a pool table. They found one in a sports bar, rather than a pool hall, but like with the better class of accommodations, Sam didn’t mind. They had burgers and beer in between games. For a little while, Sam could forget what they’d been through and why they were in town in the first place.

“Just like old times, huh, Sammy?” Dean asked as he sank the last ball.

“Yeah, except that you’re not hustling for money,” Sam pointed out as he looked at his watch. “And that we have to call the kids in about a half hour if we want to catch them before they go to bed.”

Dean’s smile was surprisingly tender, given the venue they were in. “So, it’s better than old times, is what you’re saying?”

Sam felt himself smiling back. “Absolutely.”

They made it back to the hotel room in plenty of time to talk to their boys before the kids had to go to bed. It was Dean’s turn for story time and Sam lay next to his brother, with his head on Dean’s chest, almost lulled to sleep by his brother’s voice. He woke up enough to say goodnight to their sons, however, not willing for them to sign off without it.

“You okay, Sammy?” Dean asked after their conversation with Michael and Danny was over. Sam hadn’t moved his head and Dean slowly carded his fingers through Sam’s hair.

“Just tired,” Sam answered, rubbing his face against Dean’s soft shirt. He loved the contrast between its texture and the hardness of the flesh it covered.

“It’s going to be a long day tomorrow,” Dean warned. “Maybe we should just hit the hay.”

That sounded like an excellent suggestion to Sam and, despite the early hour, it wasn’t long before the two of them were curled up in bed together. It brought on another sense of nostalgia, the two of them alone in a strange hotel in an unfamiliar city. It was something they’d done hundreds of times before, but somehow it seemed new again. Deeply content, Sam fell asleep easily, the lull of his brother’s breathing a familiar lullaby.

Unfortunately, he didn’t stay asleep.

Sam knew he was caught in a nightmare, but the knowledge didn’t do him much good. He was in the cabin again, a bloody knife clutched in his hand. Just like that night, he was circling a seated figure bound to a chair. Sam was behind his victim as the dream started and, with equal parts of eagerness and dread, his dream self finally moved so that he could clearly see who it was he’d been cutting on.

It was his father.

John Winchester sat with his head bowed, cut and bleeding from a dozen wounds. As though he sensed his son’s gaze, he lifted his head. Sam’s dream self flinched, expecting anger. Instead, his father expression was full of love. “Sammy.”

Sam woke, abruptly and unpleasantly.

Dean was wrapped around him like a blanket and Sam was thankful for their busy day. His brother didn’t wake, thanks to running errands all morning, having physical therapy, a road trip and a first session at the clinic. Taking a deep, shaky breath, Sam pulled Dean closer, as though to use him as a shield against the feelings the dream had evoked.

“S’okay, Sammy,” Dean mumbled without truly waking. One hand came up to pat Sam’s back. “G’back t’sleep.”

“Shhhh. . . .” Sam whispered into Dean’s ear. “I’m all right. Everything’s okay.”

Still mumbling, Dean settled back into a deep slumber, but Sam was almost afraid to close his eyes. He lay quietly for what seemed like hours, just holding his brother and stroking Dean’s back. Eventually, he must have drifted off, because the alarm woke him.

“You got a shotgun and the salt, Sammy?” Dean asked him in a voice rough with sleep. “Because I think that damn thing’s possessed and we need to blast it.”

Sam laughed softly and without much sympathy. “This was all your idea, remember?”

“Not the getting up at the asscrack of dawn part,” Dean grumbled. 

He got up anyway and so did Sam. Showers and getting dressed took place in short order, although Sam couldn’t convince Dean to go get breakfast.

“I’m not going to chow down if you can’t eat,” Dean protested. “That’s not fair.”

“You don’t have to suffer just because of me,” Sam disagreed. “Like you said, deprivation is good for the soul.”

“Yeah, but it was all my idea,” Dean didn’t budge. “They said you could eat after the blood work, so I’ll wait until then too.”

“At least get some coffee,” Sam implored. “And that’s for my sake as well as yours. You’re not exactly at your best until you get some caffeine in you.”

“I’m not out to win any Miss Congeniality contests, Sammy,” Dean retorted. “Let’s just get over to the clinic. Maybe they’ll take you early.”

It didn’t take long to drive to the clinic, but unfortunately Sam couldn’t get in early, since he was the first appointment of the day. Dean was as wired as though he’d already had a whole pot of coffee. He sat next to Sam in the waiting room and his good knee bounced, showing his agitation. When Sam’s name was finally called, he waved Dean back in his chair.

“I think I can get a little blood drawn all by myself,” Sam said with a smile. He knew that he’d probably be unable to shake his brother for the other tests, but this was something he could handle all on his own.

Dean looked around to make sure no one was within easy listening range. “Just check for fangs, Sammy.” When Sam gave him an exasperated look, he shrugged. “You never know, Sam.”

The sad part was that Sam didn’t know if Dean was kidding or not. The woman who escorted back into the lab was nice enough, a matronly type who reminded him of Liddy. She was efficient as she took a couple of vials of blood. It was old hat to Sam. His Stanford scholarship had covered the basics, but he’d donated his blood once in a while for pocket money. Not that he’d ever told Dean or his father that; or likely ever would.

“All done, Mr. Winchester,” the lab tech told him as she taped a cotton ball over the small needle wound in the back of his hand. “I see by your schedule that you’ve got an hour before your appointment with Dr. Floyd. The cafeteria’s on the second floor. I imagine with all the tests you’ll be doing today, that you’ll want a hearty breakfast.”

Sam thanked her gratefully and made his way out to the waiting room to find Dean. His brother wasn’t alone. A woman a few years older than Dean was sitting next to him, chatting. 

Dean waved him over as soon as he saw him. “Sammy, come meet Gina.”

Dr. Gina Porter was the wife of a medical student that Dean had helped years ago and also was the reason that Dean was able to get Sam into the Mayo Clinic. Sam knew that he should be grateful to her, but he still had mixed feelings about the whole thing. 

“Hi, Gina,” Sam greeted her with his typical politeness. “It’s nice to meet you.” Knowing how much his appointment at the Mayo meant to Dean, he couldn’t help adding, “Thanks for everything.”

Gina shook her head. “No, me and Zach, we owe Dean. He would have liked to be here himself, but he’s attending some gaming convention out in Vegas.” She looked at Sam shrewdly. “Let me guess, you’ve been turned loose to get breakfast?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Sam shrugged.

“Well, far be it from me to get between a guy of your size and his next meal,” Gina teased. “Come on. This place is like a rabbit warren; I’ll show you the way.”

In fact, Gina stayed with them all the way to the cafeteria and while they ate breakfast. She grabbed a muffin and kept them company. Sam heard more details about the hunt that had caused Dean to cross the path of Zach Porter, and therefore Gina. It was very strange to hear about his brother being on a hunt without him.

“And that was pretty much it,” Gina concluded. “Zach figured that if a dead man came back with the sole intent of telling him not to become a doctor, he’d better listen. It’s not often that you get advice from beyond the grave.”

“Does he regret it?” Sam asked, intrigued.

“Heavens, no,” Gina laughed. “Zach wasn’t cut out to be a doctor; the sight of blood made him faint. He only got as far as he did at medical school because his father, two of his uncles, and his grandfather were alumni. He’s much happier as a video game designer.”

“And probably makes a grunt-load more money,” Dean pointed out sagely. He held up his coffee mug. “Anybody else need a refill?”

Seeing that Gina was fine, Sam gave his brother his and watched him walk across the cafeteria. Much to Sam’s delight, Dean’s movement was a little bit easier than it had been the day before.

“You’re not what I expected, Sam.” Gina stated softly. “I’m glad I got the opportunity to meet you.”

Sam looked at her in curiosity. “What do you mean, I’m not what you expected?”

She grinned. “Given what Dean was like back when Zach and I met him, if I ever thought Dean Winchester would settle down, I would have expected it to be with someone with less intelligence and more. . . .” Her hands came up and made a cupping gesture. “Cleavage.”

“Yeah, well,” Sam replied. “Sometimes Dean can surprise you. No matter how wanton he seemed or how into a hunt he was, he always knew what was more important. Family.”

“I know,” Gina replied. Dean returned with their coffee and was settling back down in his seat. “You know, Dean, I was always grateful to you for more than getting rid of the spirit haunting Zach’s study cadaver.”

“Really?” Dean smirked. “You also grateful for my winsome smile and perky personality?”

She didn’t rise to his teasing. “No. You telling Zach about your little brother and how he had the courage to leave the family business, it helped him in telling his family about quitting med school. You were so proud of your brother.”

Sam lifted one eyebrow and gave Dean a searching look. Dean blushed and shrugged. Since Dean had met Gina and Zach Porter before he and Sam became a couple, she knew Sam only as Dean’s husband and not his sibling. She certainly didn’t know she was sitting across from the little brother in question.

“I always wondered,” Gina mused. “How he did and if he was happy.”

“Oh, he’s fine,” Sam jumped in before Dean could. “He’s doing exactly what he wanted to do with his life and has a family he just adores. He couldn’t be happier.”

“That’s wonderful,” Gina sighed. “I’ll have to tell Zach tonight.” Her cellphone rang and she apologized, getting up and walking away a step or two to answer.

“You were proud of me, huh?” Sam leaned forward to whisper.

“Not right away,” Dean admitted. “But later, yeah.”

Sam was surprised at how much that meant to him, given how long ago those events were now. “Thanks.”

Gina came back to the table. “Look, I gotta go. Sam, good luck with your tests. You’re in the right place to figure out what’s going on.”

Dean got up awkwardly. “Thank you, Gina, for setting this up.

She waved aside his gratitude. “Compared to what you did for us, it’s nothing. I’m just glad you asked when you did. That was something I was going to tell you — I won’t be at the Mayo that much longer. I was awarded a more senior research position at Duke. Since Zach can work pretty much from anywhere, we’ll be moving after the first of the year.”

With another round of thank yous and goodbyes, Gina left to go back to work. Sam breathed a sigh of relief. It made him a little bit nervous that the version of their background story they’d told her was different than what everyone else in Minnesota knew. Not that the Porters’ path was likely to cross with anyone else, but it was the unlikely occurrences that tended to cause trouble.

“Well, you ready to go back and face the music?” Dean asked when his plate was empty.

Sam wasn’t, not by a long shot, but it had to be done. “Sure.”

They went back to the neurology area and Sam met his doctor for the first time, Dr. Donna Floyd. Sam immediately relaxed when he accepted her sure handshake. His doctor reminded him a lot of his fourth grade teacher, Mrs. McPherson. All the other students had said how bad she was, but Sam felt quite the opposite. Mrs. McPherson was tough, but fair and he’d learned a lot from her. Dr. Floyd had the same no-nonsense air about her, yet managed to be comforting at the same time as she listened to him rattle off his history of migraines.

“Well, Mr. Winchester, I can see why you’re concerned,” she told him as his explanation wound down. “Bleeding like that isn’t normal with migraines. We’ll have to see what we can do about that.”

What followed was the most intense round of medical tests that Sam had ever undergone. He didn’t know there were so many different ways to scan a brain. Not only that, but he was given a thorough physical as well and was heartily glad that he and Dean had abstained from sexual activity the night before.

Dean stuck with it as much as he was allowed. If Sam was in having a test run, Dean would wait outside. If Sam was waiting to have a test, Dean waited with him. They had a short break for lunch and Sam was very glad they’d taken the opportunity to have a big breakfast, because lunch was a hurried affair. As the day wore on, Sam felt his energy begin to flag and Dean looked downright gray. 

“Dean, why don’t you take a cab back to the room and rest for a while?” Sam implored him after lunch. “All they’re doing is tests; we won’t get the results until tomorrow. You don’t need to be here.”

“Says you,” Dean responded. “Look, Sammy, I’m not going anywhere. You might as well accept it and save your energy for when they ask you to turn your head and cough.”

Sam sighed, but gave up. Dean’s pride, or maybe his own worry wart issues, wouldn’t allow that to happen. 

By the end of the day, neither man had the energy to do anything but go back to the hotel room. They ate at the hotel’s casual coffee shop and barely managed to stay awake until the boys’ bedtime so they could call them for a story. Hearing from their sons energized Sam enough to take a shower, but that was about it. Afterwards, he tumbled into bed and Dean wrapped himself around him like an octopus. Sam didn’t mind a bit, he liked the feeling of being grounded.

Despite his exhaustion, Sam’s sleep was restless. He would just begin to wake with a bad dream and then would hear the rumble of his brother’s voice. As a result, he never truly wakened, but neither did he sleep soundly. When the alarm went off, Dean didn’t grumble and, after taking one good look at Dean’s face, Sam knew why.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Sam asked in a tone that was just barely shy of accusing.

Dean shrugged. “I slept enough.”

“Dean. . . .”

“Hey, today won’t be so long, right?” Dean replied. “I can sleep on the way home.”

Sam didn’t argue, knowing it was pointless. Their appointment to get the results wasn’t until after lunch, so they had some time to kill. Neither man was interested in snagging more sleep, even though Sam tried his best to lull Dean into a nap by putting on the most boring show he could find on the television. In the end, they did Dean’s exercises and then indulged in a long shower, knowing that the hotel wouldn’t run out of hot water.

Lunch was a dismal affair, with neither man much interested in eating. After shredding two perfectly good sandwiches as they sat and pretended to have an appetite, it was finally time to meet with Dr. Floyd and go over the results. The nurse showed them into the office and Sam didn’t feel the least embarrassment at the relief he felt when Dean took his hand.

Dr. Floyd was punctual and, if she thought anything odd by two men holding hands in her office, it couldn’t be seen on her face.

“Mr. Winchester, I’m happy to inform you that we couldn’t find anything wrong,” Dr. Floyd didn’t beat around the bush in giving them the results. “There are no dark areas in your brain, indicating blood pooling or clots. No tumors. Nothing to indicate that there is any damage to your brain or anything life threatening by your headaches.”

Sam felt all the air whoosh out of his body. It was Dean that responded.

“Nothing?” He sounded torn between relief and disbelief. “But what about the bleeding? You can’t tell me that’s normal.”

“No, it’s not,” she agreed. “But if you have a lot of headaches, Mr. Winchester, it might be that you take more than the recommended amount of aspirin or other painkillers?”

Sheepish, Sam nodded. “Yeah. I was eating it like candy there for a while.”

“That might explain it. Aspirin is a known blood thinner and might be contributing to the bleeding.” Dr. Floyd told him. “I’m going to give you a prescription for a migraine medication. I want you to take it the moment you feel one of your headaches come on. Migraines aren’t pleasant, but if we work together, we can get them under control.”

“And what if that doesn’t work?” Dean demanded.

“I would encourage you to call my office if the bleeding happens again. There might be something going on during the time of the bleed that, if we could study it, would tell a different story,” the doctor admitted. “As it stands, all I can tell you is that your husband’s brain is perfectly healthy.”

“Well, what do you know, Sam,” Dean finally sounded relieved. “You’re normal.”

“Oh, I didn’t say he was normal,” Dr. Floyd corrected him. She walked over to a light board and put up a film. Once she illuminated the board, Sam could tell that the film was a scan of a brain. Presumably, his brain. 

“There is an indication that Sam’s brain is unusually active here,” she directed their attention to a spot that, once she pointed it out, Sam could see was brighter than the rest of the film. “There’s no evidence that this is something bad. It’s not typical, but Sam is hardly the only individual with this type of pattern.” She smiled slightly. “In fact, there’s a doctor in Germany who claims that this area of the brain is where the psychic center is located and is doing a study on it. I can give you his name if you’d like.”

“No,” Sam answered quickly. “That’s not necessary. I’m very grateful, Dr. Floyd, that you don’t think there’s anything to worry about.”

She sighed. “I’m afraid that medicine is an art form as much as it is a science. I can’t completely rule out that something is wrong, Mr. Winchester, only that your brain appears to be completely healthy. Get the prescription filled and monitor your condition. I’d like to see you again in six months for a follow-up. Of course, if anything occurs in the meantime, contact my office right away.”

In something of a daze, the brothers thanked the doctor again and headed for the car. Sam felt a growing sense of relief. He’d thought that he was only going through with the testing to ease Dean’s mind, but realized that he’d caught some of his brother’s fear. That Dr. Floyd didn’t find anything was encouraging, but he couldn’t help but feel that Dean had been disappointed in her findings.

They checked out of their hotel and were several minutes on the road before Sam felt comfortable broaching the subject.

“I’m sorry,” he stated quietly.

Dean seemed to lift out of a stupor. “What?”

“I’m sorry that they didn’t find anything,” Sam clarified.

“They did find something, Sammy,” Dean countered. “They found out that you’re all right. That’s really what I wanted to know.”

Sam dared to take his eyes off the road long enough to look at his brother. He’d thought Dean’s silence had been because he was brooding. Instead, Dean looked relieved. 

Dean grinned. “I knew they weren’t going to tell us what was causing the visions. There hasn’t been the piece of medical equipment made that can measure that. I was just worried that the visions were hurting you. Dr. Floyd said you had no brain damage, that’s a relief.”

A smile tugging at his lips, Sam couldn’t help but tease. “So you thought I was brain damaged, huh?”

Dean snorted. “Come on, Sammy. Considering what kind of crappy music you listen to? Brain damage is pretty much a given.”

Sam’s smile turned into a full grin. “Speaking of music, what’s that rule? Oh, yeah. Driver gets to pick; shotgun shut shuts his pie-hole.” 

With that, Sam stuck in his current favorite CD, one that was an instrumental that he used to wind down coming home from work.

“Sam, if I have to listen to that all the way home, I’m going to be the one with brain damage,” Dean complained.

But he reached over and grabbed Sam’s hand, not letting go the whole way home.

~to be continued in Healing, part 14~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on August 1, 2007


	60. Healing part 14

Insomnia and bad dreams were not strangers to Sam Winchester, but Dean thought it ironic that his brother was so plagued with them now. It was a whole week after getting the word from the Mayo that Sam’s vision-inspired headaches hadn’t caused any permanent damage and Dean was still giddy about that. Well, giddy in his own patented badass hunter way. In other words, he teased Sam mercilessly and made all sorts of sarcastic comments.

Things were also going well for the family on other fronts. Bobby’s idea of giving Michael and Danny puppies had gone a long way towards diffusing their fear of dogs, although they were still a little nervous around adult dogs. Dr. Banyon was enthused about their progress and the very next session would include a visit from a therapy dog. As for Dean’s physical therapy, he only had a couple of sessions left. Once he started obeying his therapist’s orders about not overdoing it, he made progress. The crutches were a thing of the past and he only had a couple of more weeks left until he could drive again. He felt so much better, in fact, that Sam had snatched Dean’s car keys, worried that he would try to get behind the wheel prematurely. Of course, Dean could hotwire the Impala, but he didn’t like to do that to his baby unless it was an emergency. Sam, damn him, knew that and took shameless advantage of it.

Boredom was Dean’s main problem. Even he conceded he wasn’t recovered enough to go back to work, but Dean had never been one who could handle just sitting around for long. The puppies kept him company, but caring for them didn’t take up nearly enough of his time. Thankfully, one of his construction contacts had a relative that ran a lamp store and had a backlog of repairs. Normally such work would be beneath Dean’s talents, but it was something to keep him busy and the extra money wouldn’t hurt either. They carried disability insurance, but it only paid 60% of his normal wage. They weren’t financially strapped, but every little bit counted.

Now, if only Sam would get better.

His brother was fine, physically, and it wasn’t just the Mayo Clinic results that proved it. Sam hadn’t had any headaches in days and, if weren’t for the fact that he wasn’t sleeping, Dean would say that his brother was in perfect health. Unfortunately, Sam was clearly brooding, something he was entirely too good at. Dean wasn’t sure if Sam was brooding about what happened with Gordon Walker or with his dad. All Dean knew for certain was that nightmares plagued Sam’s rest.

Sam murmured in his sleep and Dean kissed his brother’s temple, murmuring nonsense words of comfort until Sam settled back into sleep. With Dean not working, he could rest during the day, so he’d made it his mission to preempt any bad dreams that seemed to be coming Sam’s way. Dean had mixed success, since in spite of his best intentions, he didn’t always wake when Sam started getting restless. Even so, Dean had been able to soothe a few of them away. He just wished that he didn’t have too.

He loved everything about Sam, including his brooding and his stubbornness. Most of the time it was kind of endearing, but sometimes it was a pain in the ass. The worst part of it was that Sam wouldn’t’ talk to him about it and wasn’t that a kick in the teeth. The one time that Dean actually wanted to talk emo shit and Sam wouldn’t.

Another soft noise came from his brother and Dean did his soothing routine again. This time when he was certain that Sam was again deeply asleep, Dean didn’t stay in the bed. Instead, he carefully extricated himself from Sam’s arms and slid out from underneath the covers. He was too agitated, thinking too hard, and Sam was picking up on that.

Dean grabbed a sweatshirt and pulled it over his head, happy that the movement only caused a slight twinge from the gunshot wound on his back. He was already wearing flannel sleep pants, so well prepared for the chill of an autumn night, Dean left the bedroom and padded downstairs.

He headed straight for the kitchen and he could hear the happy whuffling of the puppies before he even turned the light on. Now that they were a bit bigger, the pups were finally moving around more and becoming more animated. They were getting too big for the crate, but far too small to have free run of any room in the house. Sam had dug out the boys’ old baby gates and they’d made a pen of sorts in the corner of the kitchen.

“Chill out, dudes,” Dean muttered as the whuffling became excited whimpers. “I’m moving as fast as I can.”

Dean shuffled across the kitchen and bent to unfasten the gate. As soon as he moved it out of the way, the pups spilled out, yipping as they gained their freedom.

“All right,” Dean instructed them. “Keep it down, people are sleeping. And don’t piss on anything.”

The puppies bounded awkwardly around the room, but inevitably came back to him. They were distinguishable by their different markings and Dean had spent enough time with them to know that it was Chevy who had decided to chew on his toe.

“Hey, knock that off,” Dean pulled his foot away from the pup. “Sam’s the only one allowed to lick my feet.”

The puppies scrambled around his ankles, trying to jump up high enough for him to pet them. Since it still hurt to bend over, Dean carefully slid down the kitchen counter until he was sitting on the floor with his back to it. The pups ecstatically swarmed over him. Dean was hard-pressed to keep up with them, his hands full trying to pet wiggling puppies.

“You’re going to spoil them.”

Startled, Dean looked up. Sam was leaning against the doorframe, hair even messier than usual from his uneasy sleep. He looked rumpled and sleepy, standing there without a shirt on, and altogether too sexy.

“They’re just babies,” Dean shrugged.

“Babies who need to understand that nighttime is sleep time,” Sam countered. He walked into the kitchen and sat back on his haunches. Egon immediately left Dean and came over to investigate. Sam’s hands were dangling down and the puppy tried sucking on his fingers, prompting a sleepy smile.

“You’re a fine one to talk,” Dean pressed. “I don’t think you’ve slept a night solid since, well, since Gordon Walker.” 

Sam sighed, but didn’t answer. He did, however, come over to sit on the floor by Dean.

“Seriously, Sammy,” Dean pleaded. “Come on, talk to me, man.”

Some of his desperation must have come through, because Dean’s last statement got him a glance from Sam as his brother looked up at him through the bangs that were hanging in his eyes.

“Dean. . . .” Sam started and then his voice trailed off.

“Sam. . . .” Dean mimicked him, note for note.

When Sam finally spoke, it was in a very gentle tone. “Dean, you seem to think I’m a better man than I really am.” He laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. “Sometimes I think you see me as a saint or something.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, Saint Sammy, patron of school dorks, people with bad taste in music, and guys who seriously need a haircut.”

“I’m not kidding around, Dean.” Sam showed a flash of irritation, but Dean found that preferable than the false calm that Sam had been assuming.

“Okay, I’ll stop joking,” Dean grew serious. “Sam, what do you think I would have done in your place if I was the one who’d caught up to Gordon Walker?” His mouth twisted. “Do you think I would have offered him tea and crumpets?”

“No,” Sam admitted. “I think you would have shot him. At least a whole clip.”

“Maybe,” Dean stated. “Or maybe I would have twisted his head off with my bare hands. My point is, I don’t love you less because of what happened with him. It was the heat of the moment, Sam. You gotta get past it; not let it haunt you.” He hesitated and then took the plunge. “Dr. Banyon has helped Mikey and Danny. Maybe you should, you know, find someone to talk to, since obviously you don’t want to talk to me.”

Sam thumped his head against the cabinet behind him. “Oh, yeah, that’d work real well.” His voice took on a sarcastic tone. “I can just see me saying ‘Doctor you’ve got to help me, I tortured somebody.’ Patient/doctor confidentiality only goes so far, Dean.”

“Well, I know somebody else you could talk to,” Dean pointed out. “Someone who’d understand perfectly, because he’s gone through that kind of stuff.”

Dean watched as his brother’s face hardened. “I’m not talking to Dad, Dean. What I had planned for Gordon Walker was legitimate and totally deserved; he had no business taking that away from me.”

“Oh yeah,” Dean muttered. “Try telling that to your subconscious, Sammy. It’s sending you all these nightmares because you’re not bothered by what happened at all.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t bothered,” Sam corrected him tersely. “Just that it needed to be done.” He took a deep breath before saying anything else. “The pups sure look healthy.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at the sudden change in subject, but ultimately let it pass. It was the middle of the night and they were both getting by on not enough sleep. It was hard to believe that they used to practically be nocturnal themselves, back when they were hunting.

“They’re coming along,” Dean agreed. He felt Sam relax as his brother realized that Dean was accepting the conversation swing. “I hate to admit it, but Bobby had a good idea.”

Sam picked up Egon and held him up to his face, scrunching his nose as the puppy licked his chin. “Beagles were a good choice too. They’re great with kids and do well with a lot of exercise. Between the boys and the yard, they should do well. They’re easy to train too, so maybe Michael would appreciate teaching Egon tricks. Danny might be too young yet for that, though.”

Dean grinned and nudged his brother. “Did your research, huh?”

Looking sheepish, Sam shrugged. “Yeah.”

“You’re good at it,” Dean picked up Chevy. “So they’re not dainty; that’s good. Don’t think I’d want anything with ‘teacup’ in the name. That’s not real. . . manly.”

Sam laughed out loud. “No, I can’t imagine a Winchester with a toy dog.”

Chevy yawned and it set off a chain reaction. Dean felt himself yawn until his jaws popped.

“Let’s go back to bed,” Sam suggested. Putting action to words, he stood and gently deposited Egon back behind the baby fence. “These guys are going to have to learn to sleep at night.”

Dean handed him Chevy, not bothering to correct his brother. Sam obviously thought that he’d come downstairs because of the pups and didn’t realize that Dean had really been awake because of Sam.

“Here, need a hand?” Sam asked, offering Dean some assistance in getting up off the floor. 

Grateful for the help, although he’d never admit it, Dean allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Sam wrapped an arm around his waist as they headed towards the stairs, hips bumping companionably as they walked far too close for efficiency. 

Almost, it felt like nothing was wrong, giving Dean hope that in the near future, maybe there wouldn’t be.

~to be continued in Healing part 15~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted August 1, 2007


	61. Healing, part 15

The dream didn’t start that badly. Sam even knew he was dreaming, but it was a pleasant one. The dream was about tucking the boys in at bedtime, one of Sam’s favorite parts of the day.

“What’s that, DaSa?” The dream version of Danny asked as Sam pulled his covers up.

“What?” His dream self responded.

“On your hands, DaSa,” Danny said. “Did you finger paint?”

The dream took its first turn into nightmare as Sam looked down at his hands and realized that they were covered in blood. He held them up in disbelief, but the iron tang of freshly spilled blood filled his nose and he could even feel it, thick and sticky on his skin.

“Don’t be silly, Danny,” Michael was in the dream too, suddenly in the bed next to his brother. “That’s not paint. DaSa got it with this.”

With a dawning sense of horror, Sam watched as the dream version of his oldest son reached under his pillow and pulled out a knife. Sam recognized it; it was Gordon Walker’s knife.

The nightmare changed abruptly, as dreams often did. Instead of their bedroom, Sam and his sons were standing in a cabin. Gordon Walker sat tied in a chair before them.

“I see you did it,” Gordon spoke to him in a calm voice. “Tucked them in all snug in their beds with those bloody hands of yours.”

“He didn’t just tuck us in,” Michael corrected Gordon, his child’s voice full of innocence. “He was teaching us how to deal with animals like you.”

Calmly, the dream Michael stepped behind Gordon Walker. With evident ease, Michael was able to reach around and slit Walker’s throat.

“Is that right, DaSa?” Michael asked his father. The dream Danny watched, heedless of the blood spurting all over him, as silent as the real one had been after the attack. “Is that how we do it?”

Sam woke, sitting up in bed and gasping. He looked around wildly, praying he was awake, but not quite believing it. Dean slept on the bed next to him, curled up on his side and oblivious to his brother’s distress. Sam’s heavy panting was loud, but Dean didn’t wake. Dean had overdone it that afternoon, playing with the boys and the puppies, so Sam had slipped him a pain pill in a can of soda. A small bomb could go off in the bedroom and Dean would probably would sleep through it.

He had to see his children. Sam got up and padded down the hall to Michael’s room. Sam pushed the door open and looked in. Danny was still joining his older brother in bed most nights and so both of his sons were there. Knowing they were sound sleepers, Sam walked into the room and stood next to the bed. Michael was on his side, sleeping in much the same position as Dean was. Danny, however, was horizontal on the mattress, on his back and his arms fully out.

They both were clean; not a speck of blood on them.

Tears stinging his eyes, Sam swallowed heavily. He reached out to touch his boys, but pulled his hand back at the last moment, afraid there might be blood on it. The thought made him sick and, instinctively, he put a hand over his mouth, trying to hold back the vomit.

He smelled blood again.

After quickly backing out of the bedroom, Sam turned and hurried down the hall towards the stairs. He ran down as quickly as he could while remaining relatively quiet. He hurried into the downstairs bathroom and fell to his knees, retching violently into the toilet. Every time he thought he was done, Sam would remember another detail from the dream and start again. In between heaving, he cast concerned glances at the door. He didn’t care how drugged Dean was, if his brother heard Sam vomiting, he would pull himself awake to take care of him. That was the whole reason why Sam had rushed to the lower level.

Finally done, Sam got up, moving and feeling like an old man. There was no way he could go back upstairs; he couldn’t bear the thought of being around his family, tainted as he was by his nightmare. Now that he wasn’t busy turning his stomach inside out, Sam could hear the puppies in the kitchen, but he ignored them too. The pups were babies and innocent animals; he didn’t want to taint them either.

Restless, Sam ended up in the living room. With a moan, he stretched out on the couch and flung an arm partially over his eyes. He knew he wasn’t going back to sleep any time soon, but after a few moments he at least felt calmer. Sighing, he sat up, wiping hands across his tired face.

When he lifted his head, Sam’s eye was caught by a moonbeam hitting the bookshelf. It just happened to fall on a framed photograph, illuminating it like a spotlight. The picture was of John and his grandsons. It had been taken the summer before, when John had taken Michael and Danny fishing. Sam’s dad was kneeling between his grandsons, grinning like a madman. Each boy was holding a fishing pole that had a fish dangling from its line. Sam smiled, remembering that day clearly. He hadn’t even known his dad could fish, but John Winchester had taught his grandsons how to do it and was even prouder than they were when they were successful.

Sam reached over and picked up the frame. He held it closer, his thumb rubbing back and forth across the image of his father and children. Sam remembered his father’s patience as he’d taught the boys, John Winchester’s gruff voice carefully explaining each step in the process. It brought Sam’s memories back further and his dad teaching him to shoot with a bow and arrow. Later years corrupted those memories, Sam’s outrage at having been taught how to use a weapon while still a child overwhelming the feeling of closeness the lessons had generated at the time. He clearly remembered looking up at his dad, warm from the praise his father had given when Sam had done well.

He imagined that his face had looked just like Michael’s when Michael had looked up at Sam, expression full of love and trust, when Sam was teaching him how to read. Sam tried to picture his son as an adult and failed. He had hopes and dreams for his children, as any father did, but had a feeling that whenever he looked at Michael or Danny, his first impression would always be of the little boys he’d raised, even when they were men.

Just as Dean claimed that John would always see Sam as his little boy. 

Sam wasn’t an idiot; he could see the parallels between his dream and his relationship with his father. Sam had been horrified at the nightmare of his sons learning to kill, as his father no doubt had been horrified at the reality of his son torturing someone. Would Sam have stood back and let Michael or Danny do what he’d done to Gordon Walker. . . . or would he have stopped it any way he could have?

There was only one answer to that.

“Damn it,” Sam muttered. He put the picture back on the shelf with considerably less care than he’d picked it up. He didn’t want to consider his father’s side. Being angry at the man was far, far easier.

Even if it was wrong.

Stubbornness was one thing, but honesty was another. Sam sighed and rubbed a hand across his tired face. He knew what he had to do and, even though it was the middle of the night, he had a sudden need to put things right between him and his dad.

Sam didn’t want to risk waking Dean, so Sam went to the laundry room to find something to wear. When he came back up, he scribbled a note to Dean. It was the middle of the night, so if his brother woke and Sam was gone, he’d worry unless Sam left word. He grabbed his jacket and, after checking that his car keys were in the pocket, left the house and locked it behind him.

When he got outside, Sam walked past his SUV and went directly for the Impala. He always thought of it as Dean’s car and rarely drove it anymore, but this night, it just seemed fitting. The old car’s engine was normally loud, but as though it knew the need for stealth, it started quietly and purred contentedly as he steered down the driveway.

St. Peter wasn’t a very big city and it didn’t take Sam long to drive to the townhouse that his father and Liddy lived in. His determination left him as pulled up and parked. For the life of him, Sam didn’t know how to approach his father. He sat in the Impala for several minutes, acutely aware it was the middle of the night and that his dad was probably sleeping.

The house had been dark when Sam pulled up, but as he sat and thought, he saw a light go on in the kitchen. He sat up straighter in the driver’s seat, immediately suspicious. Sure enough, several minutes later, he saw his father come out of the house and sit on the porch steps. The older Winchester was holding a mug of what Sam assumed was coffee. He took a sip as he set a second mug on the step next to him.

Sam smiled and got out of the car. With his hands in his pockets, he walked up to the house and, without saying a word, sat on the step next to his father. He picked up the second mug and took a deep drink before speaking. “Dean called you.”

John Winchester smiled. “Dean called me.”

The two Winchesters sat in silence for several minutes, contentedly drinking their coffee. Sam wasn’t quite sure where to start, but figured he didn’t need a whole lot of introduction.

“All I could think of was that Gordon Walker came after my family, my husband,” Sam admitted, staring off into the night. “I wanted him to hurt, like he hurt Dean. Like he hurt Ash. For him to be scared, like Michael and Danny were scared. And only then did I want to end his life, like he did Jo’s.”

“It’s a powerful thing, when your family’s been targeted,” John agreed. 

“In a way, you were lucky,” Sam commented. John gave him a startled glance and Sam smiled. “You were after a demon; you could destroy it utterly and hurt it as much as you wanted in the process and not risk losing any of your own humanity.”

“Sam, how you deal with it. . . .” His father warned. “You can’t let yourself sink to that level. That hurts you more than it does them. I learned that the hard way and almost lost you boys in the process.”

Sam was quiet and then laughed bitterly. “How am I supposed to tell my sons that I tortured someone?”

“You don’t,” John shrugged. “You tell them that their grandfather killed the bad man.”

“I can’t do that,” Sam protested.

“Why not?” John asked. “It’s the truth.”

“But only part of the truth,” Sam pointed out.

“In that case, you hope they don’t ask until they’re men themselves,” John suggested.

Sam stared. “You sound like you’re talking from experience.”

John smiled sadly. “Son, you really think you know everything I did during the hunt for what killed your mother?” 

Sam looked at him blankly. Truthfully, he and Dean had always known that John had kept things from them, but up until this conversation, he hadn’t considered how dark those things might truly be. He snorted as something occurred to him. “Dean’s right, we’re way too much alike, me and you.”

John smiled sadly. “Your brother’s a lot smarter than he likes people to know.”

Nodding, Sam took another drink of his coffee, grimacing when he realized that it was cold already. “He also said I was mad at myself, not you.”

His father looked at him appraisingly. “And you? What do you think?”

Sam thought about it. “I think Dean’s smarter than he likes people to know.” He sighed. “Does it ever go away, that feeling of being dirty?”

John put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “A little bit at a time, yes. Every person you save, every smile from someone you care about, every ‘I love you’ from a child. Each of those washes a little bit of it away.”

Blinking rapidly, Sam smiled as his father. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Anytime, Sammy.” The older Winchester squeezed Sam’s shoulder before wrapping his arm around him. “Anytime.” 

The two of them sat, shoulder to shoulder, for several minutes. Slowly, Sam became aware of the cold seeping in through his pants. He shifted subtly, not wanting to break the moment with his father. His dad, though, was an observant man.

“Sammy, don’t take this the wrong way,” John finally said. “But go home.”

“That obvious, huh?” Sam responded sheepishly.

His dad nudged him. “You can’t pull the wool over on your old man. Go home. Dean’s probably waiting for you.”

Sam stood. “I don’t know how he could be, after what I slipped into his drink.”

John shrugged. “You know your brother, where you’re concerned, he finds a way.”

“Yeah, he does, doesn’t he?” Sam turned to leave, but at the last minute, turned back. “Dad, we can talk again tomorrow, right?”

His father had been in the act of picking up the coffee mugs, but looked up at him with a smile. “Damn right we can, Sammy.”

“Good,” Sam smiled shyly. “I’d like that.”

After giving his dad a quick hug, Sam trotted down the steps and back to the Impala. With his errand complete, he was feeling the urgent need to get back to his family, just like he’d felt a compelling need to talk to his father, despite the lateness. It didn’t take long to get home. The house was dark, but Sam could see a movement at the window of the bedroom he shared with Dean. The curtain was trembling slightly.

Sam made short order of parking the car and making his way back inside. The house was still, with even the puppies dead to the world. After slipping off his shoes, Sam padded upstairs. He couldn’t resist taking a quick peek at the kids, but they were sound asleep. With an easier heart, Sam walked down the hallway and into his bedroom.

Dean appeared to be asleep as well, but Sam knew better. After taking off his clothes, he slid into bed and shamelessly snuggled up against his brother.

“Thank you,” Sam murmured as he nuzzled into the warmth of Dean’s neck.

“Hey, that’s cold,” Dean protested sleepily. He turned in Sam’s arms and peered through the darkness at Sam’s face. “Everything’s okay, then?”

Sam kissed him. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

Dean stared at him long and hard, then grinned. “And?”

“And what?” Sam asked. He wasn’t paying that much attention, more interested in thrusting his feet amongst Dean’s and getting them warm again.

Sensing his brother’s lack of focus, Dean poked him. “And I was right, huh?”

Sam kissed him again. “And you were right.” He punctuated the comment with another kiss for good measure.

Content, Dean hummed into the kiss. After their lips broke apart, he wiggled closer to Sam. After yawning big and wide, he curled up next to the bigger man. “And why am I always right?”

It was only after reconciling with his father that Sam could acknowledge how much the break had been affecting him. He was lighthearted with relief and, instead of being frustrated at Dean’s lack of humility, answered without hesitation. “Because you’re the big brother.”

“Damn straight,” Dean muttered, eyes already lowering as the pill Sam had snuck him earlier reclaimed control. “Don’ forg’t a’gin.”

Sam waited until Dean was fully out before answering. 

“I won’t,” he vowed as he pressed a kiss onto Dean’s shoulder. “I promise, I won’t.”

~to be continued in Healing part 16~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on August 2, 2007


	62. Healing part 16

"Can we call Miss Rose again?”

Dean sighed. It was a short five hour drive from St. Peter to the Roadhouse, which was located in Nebraska, but with Michael asking to call and check on the puppies every hour, it seemed like a lot longer.

“Nope, we just called her after lunch,” Dean replied. “I’m sure Egon and Chevy are just fine.”

“But. . . .”

“No, Michael,” Sam supported Dean. “Your DeeDee’s right, Miss Rose said the puppies were okay and that was only an hour ago. She’s had dogs before, we have to trust that she knows how to take care of them.” He glanced at Dean and added a murmured aside. “And it’s enough that she’s taking care of two puppies that haven’t been totally housebroken yet, we can’t annoy her with phone calls on top of it.”

“At least they don’t have to be bottle fed anymore,” Dean pointed out.

January would not have been Dean’s first choice for holding a memorial service for Jo, but then, it wasn’t his choice at all. Maybe Ellen had felt that the new year was a good time to bring closure to the last chapter in her daughter’s life. For whatever reason, neither Winchester had wanted to be cooped up in a vehicle with two puppies for the whole drive. Egon and Chevy had grown in the months since they first got them, but weren’t reliably housetrained yet. Dean wouldn’t have wanted them along even if they’d taken Sam’s SUV for the trip, but driving the Impala kind of sealed the deal. He was fond of the pups, but not willing to risk his beloved car’s upholstery.

The puppies weren’t the only things that had changed in the last couple of months. The boys were pretty much back to normal, aside from the occasional bad dream. Sessions with Dr. Banyon were a thing of the past, although Sam and Dean had been assured by the psychiatrist that they could always bring the boys in if any issues should surface. Sam’s relationship with their father had mended and was maybe even stronger than it had been before. Dean didn’t think it a coincidence that Sam’s nightmares had tapered off once he started talking to their dad again. A small part of Dean was sad that he hadn’t been the one to help Sam through his moral crisis, but it was more important that someone had. As for Sam’s headaches, they were rare and Sam was using the migraine medicine whenever he felt one coming on. Dean would feel better about that, except that Sam hadn’t had any visions lately either, so the jury was still out on whether the headaches had been taken care of or not.

“How’s your leg holding up?”

Dean looked over to the passenger side of the car, where Sam was looking at him and waiting for an answer. Dean was again walking without a limp and all lifting restrictions were off, although his shoulder did give him a twinge once in a while. Although the pneumonia was gone, Dean was susceptible to every little bug that came around, as a result, he’d had a cold most of the winter, even though in Minnesota, January wasn’t very far into the season. As a result, Sam still tended to worry and was already talking about spending spring break somewhere warm. Dean had to admit that the idea was kind of appealing. The thought of spending days on the beach, with nothing to do but let the sunshine bake the cold right out of him, sounded good. As long as no theme parks and overgrown mice were involved, anyway.

“It’s fine, Sam, chill out,” Dean assured him. The trip to the Roadhouse wasn’t long, but it was the furthest that Dean had driven since being injured. Sam had offered to help drive, but that only got him a growl.

“Well, let me know if you get tired and I can take some time behind the wheel,” Sam offered, proving beyond a shadow of a doubt, at least to Dean, where Michael got his worry gene from.

“DeeDee, DaSa,” Danny’s voice came from the back seat. “Why come puppies don’t wear diapers?”

“How come,” Sam corrected automatically. “And they don’t wear diapers because diapers are for people babies.”

That was essentially the same answer he’d been given the first time he asked, back when Bobby first gave them the puppies. Danny had let it drop at the time, but obviously wasn’t satisfied with his father’s answer. “But why? Puppies are babies too.”

“It’s because their butts are too little,” Dean entered the fray. “Besides, dude, diapers don’t fit over tails.”

For a moment there was silence and Dean dared to hope that his explanation had sufficed, but he should have known better. Danny might look more like Dean, but he was Sam’s son too and every bit as obstinate.

“Dolls have little butts and they have diapers,” Danny responded. “And you can cut a hole for the tail, DeeDee.”

Sam snorted at the logical answer and Dean bit back a grin. His mind searched for another plausible explanation and then an idea hit him.

“You’re right, Danny,” Dean replied, looking at his son using the rearview mirror. “I don’t know why puppies don’t wear diapers, but I bet I know who does.”

“Who?” Danny’s feet thumped against the back of Dean’s seat, but for once Dean didn’t correct the little boy.

“Who knows more about dogs than anybody you know?” Dean prompted.

“Uncle Bobby!” Michael left off sulking long enough to supply the answer.

“That’s right, Uncle Bobby,” Dean confirmed. “You’ll have to ask him when we get to the Roadhouse. I bet he can tell you.”

“Oh, that’s evil,” Sam murmured, but there was an appreciative smile on his face. “Pure genius, but evil.”

“I have my moments,” Dean replied smugly. He stretched out his right arm along the back of the seat and started playing with Sam’s hair. “Besides, Bobby gave them the pups, he can deal with some of the fallout.”

The rest of the ride to the Roadhouse was without incident, with the exception of a full version of “99 Cans of Beer on the Wall.” Dean couldn’t bitch about that, though, since he’d started it. It’d been worth it, to see Sam’s pained grimace, although his brother stoically refrained from saying anything.

It was mid-afternoon when they arrived and Dean pulled in next to his dad’s truck. John and Liddy had left a day earlier to help Ellen get everything ready. Dean was grateful that no one had expected them to do the same. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be of assistance to Ellen, it was just that he was dreading the funeral enough the way it was.

The front door opened and the familiar form of his father came out. 

“Grandpa!” Danny yelled and ran, Michael not far behind him. Dean watched with a grin as the boys jumped on their grandfather, John making an ‘oof’ sound and catching them easily.

Dean snorted and poked Sam. “Who needs puppies with those two around?”

“At least they’re potty trained,” Sam retorted.

By the time Dean and Sam had grabbed all their duffle bags and started for the door, Liddy and Ellen had joined the impromptu reunion. Dean almost pulled up short when he got a good look at Ellen. The woman looked hagridden. Her face was pale and gaunt. Looking at her, Dean realized why Sam had nagged him to eat so mercilessly after he’d gotten hurt. If he’d looked half as bad as Ellen, it must have been downright scary.

“Boys,” John greeted them with a nod of his head. “You made good time.”

“Yeah, you know Dean’s driving,” Sam replied. “The speed limit’s not so much a law as it is a suggestion.”

“Come on in,” Ellen offered, stepping away from the door. “I’ve got rooms all ready for you; I bet you’ll want to wash up.”

“Thanks, Ellen,” Dean told her, allowing her to shoo him, along with his family, inside.

The Roadhouse looked a lot more formal than it normally did, but that was because it was where the memorial service would be held. It was sparkling clean and had an abundance of chairs. Ellen was obviously expecting a large crowd.

“Thank you so much for coming,” Ellen told them, her voice even more hoarse than normal. 

“You know we wouldn’t have missed this,” Dean responded solemnly. He put the bags he was carrying down and enveloped her in a big hug. “We owe Jo a lot.”

Ellen hugged him back and stepped away, putting one hand up on his chest. “It wasn’t your fault, I know that.” 

“It was Gordon Walker’s fault,” a new voice said.

Dean turned around to see Bobby standing there. Like the Roadhouse, Bobby had spiffed up some. His beard was neatly trimmed and he was wearing a suit, of all things. 

“Yeah, we know,” Sam answered for Dean. “ But that doesn’t change the owing part.”

The boys were looking around with big eyes, no doubt picking up on the vibes. Dean looked at Michael with concern; hoping that no emotion was getting through Danny’s blocking ability.

“Hey, Danny, didn’t you want to ask Uncle Bobby something?” Dean reminded his youngest, hoping to break the tension.

One of Bobby’s eyebrows went up. “Really, what’s that, Dan?”

Danny walked over this his uncle and addressed him seriously. “How come puppies don’t wear diapers?”

If Sam and Dean had been hoping that their four year-old stumped the older hunter, he disappointed them.

“Well, Sport,” Bobby drawled. “I suppose that’s because doggie mamas don’t have no hands. They wouldn’t be able to change the diapers.”

“Oh.” Danny thought about it a minute and then smiled. “Okay.”

“I put you in the guest room on the second floor in the far back,” Ellen explained. “We’re a little full up, the boys’ll have to share with you.”

“That’s fine,” Dean assured her. “We brought sleeping bags for them.”

With a nod to the others, Sam and Dean ushered their boys upstairs. They’d made good time, but also gotten a late start. They’d need to begin getting ready right away if they wanted to look respectable for the memorial service.

The Winchesters didn’t go as far as Bobby, they didn’t bring suits. Instead, the brothers changed into dress pants and dress shirts with ties. The boys were attired much the same, although without the neck garb. Even with the Roadhouse as clean as it was, Dean didn’t hold out much hope that Danny would stay presentable for the entire evening.

When they came back out to the main room, they saw their dad and Liddy, along with Bobby, but Ellen was nowhere to be seen. 

“DaSa, can we have some quarters?” Michael asked, tugging on Sam’s arm. Sam obligingly dug into his pocket and passed his son several.

“Make sure that Danny gets a chance to play too,” Sam called out as the children made a beeline for the video games. 

Dean was glad he’d been sure to bring quarters too. No doubt he’d be hit up for some by the end of their stay.

“How’s Ellen holding up?” he asked as he approached the other adults.

It was Bobby that answered. “About as well as can be expected.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “She’s mighty tore up about it. If it weren’t for looking after Ash, I don’t know that she’d be holding together as well.”

“Ellen’s a tough woman,” John added. “But losing a child. . . .” His eyes swept over Dean and Sam and then on to his grandchildren. “I can’t even imagine.”

Dean wasn’t surprised. His dad had gone up against a demon for his kids — and won. John Winchester wasn’t one to let a simple thing like Hell get in the way of taking care of his family.

“And how’s Ash doing?” Sam asked.

Liddy touched his arm, directing both brothers’ attention to the back of the room. “Why don’t you see for yourself?”

The way his stepmother phrased that worried Dean, so he was pleasantly surprised to see Ash looking much better than he had the last time he’d seen him. Then, Ash was just out of the hospital and still in a considerable amount of pain. Now he still had his arm in a sling, but he looked healthier. There was some color in his face and more animation in his expression. Not only that, but the baseball hat covering his baldness was gone. His hair was very short and not nearly grown out from the shearing it had received at Gordon Walker’s hands, but it was a start.

“Hey, you’ve got hair,” Sam greeted Ash as he joined their group.

Ash looked rather bashful about it. “Some, anyway. It’s going to take forever to grow it out into a proper shape.”

Dean pursed his lips as he considered. “Dude, the mullet was awesome, but maybe you should think of updating your look.”

“To what?” Ash looked intrigued, but far from sold on the idea.

“I’m thinking Mohawk,” Dean suggested. “The chicks dig that kind of thing.”

“Mohawk?” Ash repeated. He ran his good hand along the side of his head. “That might work.”

“Speaking of work,” Liddy broke into the conversation. “I could use a little help.”

Thankfully for the state of their clothes, Liddy didn’t have anything too strenuous in mind. Mostly, it was putting chairs into rows and arranging photo displays. Sam kept a watchful eye on Dean, making sure he didn’t overdo it, but it was easy work. Even the boys helped out, lugging one chair at a time and making sure their fathers made straight rows when they lined them up.

As the Winchesters worked, other hunters trickled in. Dean had expected some awkwardness about that. Jo had died under his watch, protecting his family. Many of these hunters had watched her grow up; Dean anticipated some resentment over the Winchesters’ involvement, maybe even some blame assigned. With his dad and Bobby there, he didn’t expect anything to get out of hand, but he’d been dreading that aspect of the gathering.

Dean had been wrong.

The other hunters made it a point to come up and greet both him and Sam. The welcome the family got was quite the opposite of resentment. Dean wondered why, until he saw the looks being sent towards Michael and Danny. Those glances were full of shame and that made everything clear to Dean. These hunters hadn’t helped Walker, but they hadn’t stopped him either. If there was one thing that hunters had in common, it was their defense of the innocent and nothing was more innocent than children. If Gordon Walker had been trying to incite the hunting community against the Winchesters, he’d failed the moment he targeted the kids.

In the midst of finishing the preparations and the other hunters arriving, Ellen came back down into the Roadhouse’s main room. She’d also changed her clothes into something a little more formal than the jeans and flannel she normally wore. In fact, Dean was certain that he’d never seen Ellen in a dress before. He was also fairly positive that she’d been crying, if the evidence of her red eyes was any proof. Bobby obviously saw that too, because he was at Ellen’s side in an instant and from the determined set of his jaw, had no intention of moving from that position.

“Looks like Michael was right,” Sam murmured in Dean’s ear. “Bobby will be good for her.”

“He’s a good man,” Dean nodded. “Puppies and all.”

Ellen circulated in the room, greeting the guests that had arrived and welcoming the newcomers as they came in. Dean recognized Billy Dee Walsh, a hunter from Florida that was also an ordained minister. Since he had his collar on, it was a fair bet that he’d be conducting the service.

Dean had never seen so many hunters in one place, but something still felt off. It was like there was something missing. Then one last newcomer arrived and he realized that it wasn’t something, but someone that he’d been unconsciously looking for - because the very next person to come through the door was Missouri Mosely.

Missouri usually didn’t just enter a room; she swept into it like royalty. Not this time. This time, if Dean hadn’t been watching the door, he wouldn’t have seen her come in at all. It wasn’t like Missouri to be timid. He nudged Sam and, once he had his brother’s attention, nodded towards the door. Sam took one look and nodded back. No one else appeared to have seen Missouri come in, so the brothers were the first to greet her.

“Missouri, we didn’t expect to see you here,” Sam said as he bent down for a hug. “How’s Karen?”

Karen was the wife of yet another hunter, Joshua, and she’d been diagnosed with cancer. The family had moved to Lawrence, Kansas, where Missouri was helping care for the woman and assist Joshua with their three kids. Dean felt sick about Karen’s illness. He’d stayed with the couple one summer after he’d broken his leg and even helped care for their oldest daughter, Annie. Not only that, but Joshua was the one that had pointed Sam in the direction of a faith healer when Dean’s heart had been damaged. Karen was good people and Dean wished like anything that there was something he could do to help her.

“She’s hanging on, but it won’t be long now,” Missouri answered sadly. “I think the poor dear has one foot on the other side already, but she promised she’d bide a little while yet. She knew how important it was for me to be here.” 

“I’m sorry,” Dean said. He didn’t know exactly what he was sorry for, except maybe not being able to fix the situation.

Missouri took a deep breath. “I know.” She looked at him closely. “Now, you look better than I thought you would. Here I thought I would have to paddle your behind for not taking better care of yourself.”

Dean grinned, knowing this was Missouri’s way of saying she was glad he was okay. “I’ve been told that I’ve again retained hot fudge sundae status.” It was Sam’s friend, Rose’s, scale of attractiveness.

“Well, there’s hot fudge sundaes and then there’s hot fudge sundae’s with nuts.” Dean looked at her closely to see if she was making a double entendre, but she ignored him. “You’ve a ways to go, baby. You still looked a little peaked.” She turned her formidable attention on to Sam. “And what’s this I hear about you bleeding from your headaches and not telling anyone?”

Sam shuffled his feet and tried looking anywhere but at the diminutive psychic. “I told Dean. Eventually.”

“Well, after the ceremony, me and you and a wooden spoon are going to have a talk about that word ‘eventually,’” Missouri warned. “You aren’t so tall that I can’t. . . .”

“Missouri.”

Unnoticed by the three of them, Ellen had walked up to their group. She stared steadily at the other woman, seemingly uncaring at having interrupted their conversation.

From the expression on Missouri’s face, Dean realized that her scolding of them had been bravado. Missouri’s face fell when she saw Ellen; clearly showing how upset she was underneath the aggressive mother henning.

“Oh, honey,” Missouri breathed as she stepped forward and took Ellen’s hands. “I swear, when Jo came to me, she wasn’t suicidal and I truly don’t think she was looking to die. I helped her convince the Winchesters to let her help them because I sensed she had a strong need for atonement, but I had no idea how far she would go.”

Dean could see that Ellen’s eyes had filled up with tears as she nodded. “I know. Joanna died -. . . .” Ellen’s voice broke on the word. “She died protecting children. She died doing something important. That helps, a little.”

Missouri put her arm around Ellen’s shoulder and led her away. “Here, now, it’s hitting you hard all of a sudden, isn’t it? Let me help a little.”

Sam came and stood next to Dean as they watched the women walk into a back room. “I hope that Missouri can help her. Ellen looks pretty torn up.”

“She was probably so busy taking care of Ash that it hadn’t hit her yet,” Dean theorized. “But I guess that’s what a memorial service is all about, helping you deal.” He flinched. “It sucks.”

“You think it was a good idea bringing the boys?” Sam asked. “They might be a little young for this.”

As one, the brothers looked at their children. The boys were with their grandparents and, while they looked solemn, they didn’t look unduly distressed.

“No,” Dean answered. “They need to be here. Jo’s death wasn’t their fault, but they shouldn’t forget her sacrifice.” 

“I hope all of this isn’t too much for Michael,” Sam commented as they made their way back to their sons. “We’ll have to keep an eye on him. We’ve never tested the limits of what Danny’s able to block.”

“I don’t think it works that way, Sammy,” Dean reassured him. “It’s not like Danny’s blocking the emotions; he’s blocking Michael’s gift. It shouldn’t matter how strong the feelings are that are flying around; they can’t touch Mikey.”

At least, Dean fervently hoped so. Like Sam, he’d be keeping a close eye on their eldest.

The minister, Billy Dee, called out for everyone to take a seat and the Winchesters found themselves up towards the front. They sat with the boys in between them and their father a solid presence in the row behind them. Ellen was escorted from the back by Bobby, who kept a supporting hand under her arm. On her other side was Ash, a determined look on his face, but tears already running down his cheeks. The urn containing Jo’s ashes was already reverently positioned at the podium in the front of the room.

As memorial services went, it was fairly normal. The minister spoke of Jo’s life and the sacrifice she made to protect the two children. There were hymns and bible verses, just like a traditional service. What made it unusual was that it took place in the early evening, a nod to the typical hunter’s tendency for nocturnal activities. 

About halfway through, Danny crawled into Dean’s lap and Dean was glad to have him there. He hugged the sturdy little boy’s body close and gave thanks that both of his kids were still with him. At his side, he saw Michael burrow underneath Sam’s arm and Sam’s dark head bend down to whisper something to the boy. Dean assumed that Sam was asking Michael if he was being overwhelmed by emotions and relaxed when he saw Michael shake his head. It was a huge relief to have been right.

Towards the end of the service came the part that Dean dreaded. Billy Dee asked if anyone in the room had memories of Jo that they wanted to share. The Roadhouse’s karaoke machine had been pressed into service and he had a microphone that he was willing to pass off. The first couple of people to speak where older hunters, who spoke of watching Jo grow up and blossom into a fine hunter herself. One spoke of how proud her father would have been of her. Dean was watching Ellen while he spoke and how she had to hide her face in her hands at that particular comment. Bobby’s hand came up to rub her back.

When Billy Dee walked towards the area where the Winchesters sat, Dean raised his hand, asking for the microphone. Sam’s eyes just about bugged out of his head in surprise. If the situation hadn’t been so solemn, Dean would have snickered. It wasn’t very often that he could utterly pull the rug out from under Sam so thoroughly. 

Dean stood as the microphone was handed to him. He tried to get Danny to transfer to his grandfather, but Danny just shook his head and wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck, hiding his face. With his child hanging on to him like a monkey, Dean turned to address the room.

“Most of you know that Jo Harvelle and I weren’t exactly friends. And you know why.” Dean cleared his throat. “But when she found out my family was in trouble, she came to help. Insisted on helping, even when we didn’t want her. It takes character to put your life on the line for someone you care about, but to do it for someone who doesn’t particularly like you, that takes more than character.” He looked around the room. “That’s the way I think Jo Harvelle should be remembered; as a hero. I know that me and mine will always be grateful to her.”

He abruptly handed the microphone back to Billy Dee and sat down. Dean hid his face in Danny’s hair for a moment, needing to take in the scent of little boy. He lifted his head when Sam put a hand on his arm. His brother’s gaze was watery.

“I’m proud of you,” Sam whispered. “That took a lot of courage.”

Dean blinked rapidly. “Well, it was the least I could do.”

Sitting with Danny on his lap, Dean was oblivious to the rest of the people speaking. He let their words flow over him, content in the knowledge that his family was safe and surrounding him. Slowly, Danny became less tense and even sat up again. Next to him, Michael did the same. By the time the personal testimonies were over with, the boys seemed to have found their equilibrium.

Billy Dee brought the service to a conclusion, but Ellen stood before anyone could get up to leave.

“Thank you everyone for coming,” she addressed the crowd. “There’s plenty of food, so I hope you’ll stay for dinner and, afterwards, there’s something I’d like everyone to consider. Now, if some of you could help with the tables. . . .”

With so many gathered, it didn’t take long to change the setup from congregational-style seating to lots of tables and plenty of places to sit. While that was being done, another group, led by Ellen and Liddy, started bringing out platters of food from the kitchen. In short order, a buffet was set up and the hunters, being uncharacteristically mannerly, were filing through it.

The Winchesters managed to find a table to themselves, wanting a chance to regroup after the emotional ceremony. Dean was pleased to see that both Michael and Danny ate with an appetite, even if their fathers weren’t quite so enthusiastic about eating.

While they were lingering over dessert, Ellen came over.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but there’s a DVD player in the bedroom you’re in,” she stated. “I expect that the boys are bored stiff with all this adult stuff and it’s only likely to get worse as the night goes on.”

Dean knew a hint when he heard one. “What do you say, guys? Want to watch a movie?”

“You know, that sounds good to me too,” Liddy said with a smile. “Why don’t I join the boys?”

“Are you sure, Liddy?” Sam asked. Dean nodded, in total agreement. They didn’t want their stepmother to feel like she always had to watch the boys when hunting business came up.

“Oh, believe me I’m sure,” she assured them, nose wrinkling as she smiled. “Politics of all kinds bores me, even hunter politics, and I have a feeling that’s what’s going to go on in here for the rest of the night. I’ll be much more comfortable with the boys.”

Despite Liddy’s obvious willingness to watch their sons, both Dean and Sam felt the need to go with her to take the boys back to the bedroom. Since it was on the second level of the Roadhouse and in the back, hopefully they would be a little removed from whatever noise came from the main room, especially if Ellen broke the booze out. 

After helping the children change into their pajamas and negotiating which movie they would watch, the brothers took turns kissing their sons goodnight. They had a feeling that Michael and Danny would be asleep by the time they came back up.

“Good night, boys,” Dean told them as they left the room. “You be good for Grandma now.” By this time, it felt perfectly natural to refer to Liddy as the kids’ grandmother.

“We will,” Michael promised.

“If you’re asleep when we come in, we’ll see you in the morning,” Sam assured them.

The brothers left their sons, one child snuggled in complete contentment to either side of their grandmother, and headed back to the other hunters.

“What do you suppose Ellen has in mind?” Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. “Could be anything, but it was for damn sure that she didn’t want the boys there for it.”

Feeling a little nervous, Dean and Sam made their way back to the main room where the rest of the hunters were. They saw their father standing off to the side and went to join him.

“What’s going on, Dad?” Dean asked.

“Ellen’s got this idea,” John started, but he was interrupted by a loud whistle.

When Dean turned around, it was to see that it was Bobby who’d whistled. Seeing that he had the room’s attention, Bobby gave a hand to Ellen, who was standing by him. With his assistance, she stood on a table, so that she was head and shoulders above everyone else in the room.

“I want to thank everyone again for coming,” Ellen addressed them. “It means a lot to me that you’re willing to come out here, some of you from a long ways away, to help me lay my girl to rest.” Her face and voice hardened. “But it’d mean even more to me if my Jo was the only person to die this way.”

The room became quiet, with a silence that was uncomfortable. Hunters shifted from foot to foot until, finally, one had the gumption to speak up.

“Wasn’t none of us that hurt her, Ellen,” a hunter Dean didn’t recognize called out.

“That’s the God’s honest truth,” Ellen was quick to agree. “But when Gordon Walker starting hunting the Winchesters, there should have been somewhere they could turn. Hunters, we like to think we’re above the law.”

“The law don’t know how to cope with what we do.” It was a female hunter this time. “They can’t handle the type of shit we come up against every day.”

Again, she agreed. “The legal system, any legal system, is not set up to police supernatural phenomenon and that gives a lot of hunters the idea that we’re above the law. And, to a certain extent, maybe we are.” She shook her head. “But if we turn on each other, then we’re little better than the monsters we hunt.”

There was more uncomfortable silence, then someone from the back of the room called out. “Just come to the point, Harvelle.”

Ellen looked down briefly at Bobby. He nodded at her and when she looked across the room again, there was renewed determination in her face. “The point is there’s a new sheriff in town. Me. Before anyone thinks about taking up arms against another hunter, you damn well better be sure of yourself, because when I find out about it, I’ll be in your face, demanding an explanation.”

There was a hoot of laughter from one of the hunters who’d spoken earlier. “You and what army, little lady?”

“Me.” Bobby stepped forward.

John followed suit. “Me too.”

Dean and Sam exchanged glances and then, as one, stepped silently behind their father. Around the room, hunter after hunter did the same. Before long, those who seemed opposed to the idea were in the clear minority.

“Great, now in addition to spooks, we’ve got vigilantes to worry about,” the first to speak out about the proposal stated sarcastically.

Ellen shook her head. “That’s not exactly what I’ve got in mind. I’m not talking about intervening when one hunter cheats the other at cards or hits on your girlfriend. I’m talking about life and death issues here.”

“Come on, Ellen,” her opponent retorted. “Gordon’s the only one that’s gone bat fuck crazy and tried to kill another hunter. Who died and made you God?”

Ellen’s eyes blazed. “My daughter.”

There wasn’t anything that the other hunter could say to that. Grumbling, he subsided. It wasn’t all that easy, though. The hunters talked late into the night, hashing out the details. As much as the others respected Ellen and her grief, no one was comfortable with a single hunter acting as judge and jury over the rest. Essentially, a council was started, with Ellen as its head. Everyone hoped that another Gordon Walker wouldn’t arise, but if one did, they had the beginnings of a way to deal with it.

“Do you think this has a snowball’s chance of working?” Sam asked as he, Dean and their father made their way to the room where the boys were.

Dean shrugged. “Do you think some sort of council would have stopped Gordon Walker from coming after us?”

Sam’s steps faltered for a moment, but then he kept on walking. “Good point.”

“It’s probably overkill,” John admitted. “But it can’t hurt and if it makes Ellen feel better, then it’s definitely worth it.”

When they came into the bedroom they’d been given, they found Liddy asleep on the bed along with the boys. John’s smile was tender as he walked over and gently shook his wife awake.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said softly. “Let’s go to our own room.”

Liddy woke up and touched his face, before slipping out from between the boys. “Good night, Sam. Good night, Dean. Michael and Danny were perfectly good.”

“Thanks, Liddy,” Dean replied. “Good night.”

Dean and Sam made short work of opening up the sleeping bags and spreading them out. Sam took Michael and Dean took Danny. They managed to transfer the boys to the floor without waking them. Exhausted emotionally and physically, they were soon in bed themselves, wrapped around one another.

Seeing Ellen’s pain had been hard for Dean; he was too aware how easily it could have been him, trying to survive the loss of a child. His dreams were uneasy, as was his sleep. Several times during the night, he woke suddenly and with a need to check on the boys. Luckily they were right in the room with him and he didn’t even have to get out of bed to see that they were okay. Once, he caught Sam doing the same and knew he wasn’t the only one having a hard time dealing.

The boys woke up bright and early, much to both of their fathers’ disappointment. The Roadhouse had emptied out the night before, but Dean wasn’t too confident that none of the other hunters hadn’t come back. He knew that John and Liddy had been given the room across the hall from theirs and that Missouri was on a couch in the office downstairs.

Even Dean hadn’t had the balls to ask where Bobby was bedded down.

Although known friendlies were all around, he still couldn’t be 100% confident that the Roadhouse was a secure environment, so Dean went downstairs with Danny and Michael. Ellen was already in the kitchen and had a start on breakfast. While the boys watched cartoons on the TV above the bar, Dean offered to help out.

“I can’t make a soufflé,” Dean told Ellen when she looked at him skeptically. “But I can break an egg with the best of them.”

Eventually the smell of food lured everyone else downstairs. Sam, in particular was bleary eyed when he came wandering down.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Dean said, loud and cheerful. “Glad you could haul your sleepy patootie out of bed.”

“Sorry about that.” Sam told him, blushing. “Next time, I’ve got early duty.”

“Darn straight you do,” Dean replied, after kissing his brother quickly.

Breakfast was a family affair. Dean, Sam and their boys. John and Liddy. Ash. Ellen and Bobby. Missouri. It was subdued at first, but Michael and Danny were too young to be affected by the remnants of the emotion from the day before and their good spirits lifted the mood of the adults. Afterwards, Dean and Ellen got to take a load off their feet as those who hadn’t helped with the cooking did the clean-up.

“Oops,” Dean grabbed a plate from Sam before his brother could put it away. “It’s still dirty.”

“What?” Sam frowned as he studied at the dish. “There isn’t a speck on it.”

Seeing that his dad and Bobby weren’t in the room, Dean grinned suggestively at his husband. “Trust me, it’s there. I might let you slide it by, though, if you pay the plate inspection fee.”

A smile tugged at Sam’s lips. “Really. A plate inspection fee. And what might that happen to be?”

Dean touched his cheek and puckered up. “You can pay right here.”

Sam laughed and bent forward. At the very last moment, Dean turned his head and their lips joined. Sam hummed in pleasure and deepened the kiss, paying his inspection fee and then some. Things were going swimmingly until a sharp pop on his ass made Dean yelp.

“Hey, what gives?” He demanded, turning around.

Missouri was standing with a dish cloth wound and at the ready. “Less lip smacking and more dishes, if you please.”

Michael and Danny, the little traitors, stood by and giggled.

“I already did my part,” Dean said smugly. “I get to watch.” He waggled his eyebrows at Sam. “I like to watch.”

Ellen made a strange noise. They all turned to look at her. She made it again and, at the second time, she covered her mouth with her hands.

“Honey, are you okay?” Missouri dropped the towel to hurry to Ellen’s side.

In response, Ellen pulled her hands away it was revealed that she was laughing. “Oh, that feels good. I can’t remember the last time I laughed. Thank you, boys.”

After the dishes were done, Ash wanted Michael and Danny to see his new computer set up. Ellen and Liddy went along too, but when Sam and Dean made as if to follow, Missouri grabbed each of them by the arm.

“Not so fast, boys,” she stated. “I think we need to talk.”

The brothers exchanged glances. Sam looked as confused as Dean felt; neither one had taken Missouri’s threat the evening before of beating Sam with a wooden spoon seriously.

“Should I be covering my behind with my hands?” Sam asked, one eyebrow lifted.

Missouri made an impatient noise. “Not yet.” 

Dean crossed his arms against his chest. “Okay, what’d we do now?”

“It’s not what you did, but what you didn’t do,” she responded cryptically. When they both continued to look confused, she sighed and threw her hands up. “You were worried about Michael’s gift and you didn’t call me. Your father had to tell me about it last night.”

The brothers exchanged another set of glances. Their worry about Michael feeling Jo Harvelle’s death had been something they’d been reluctant to talk about, even between the two of them. It was as though they believed it wouldn’t have happened if they didn’t bring it up. Truthfully, an eight year-old didn’t get much exposure to people dying, so they hadn’t any chances to see if it had been a fluke or not. Thank God.

Missouri gentled as she saw the expressions on their faces. “Tell me about it.”

Dean was the one who’d been there, so he described Jo’s death and what Michael had said about feeling her go, as well his comment that she’d been happy. “What we don’t know is if Michael’s gift is growing or if Danny’s was stifled somehow because he was so emotionally withdrawn at the time.”

After he was done, Missouri just shook her head at him. “Oh, honey, you only considered the two options?”

Blinking, Dean nodded. “Well, yeah.”

“Missouri, are you saying that there’s another explanation?” Sam asked, his voice mirroring the hope that Dean was starting to feel.

“Michael and Danny weren’t the only two people who were involved,” Missouri gently pointed out. “You’re forgetting Jo.”

“Jo?” Dean looked at Sam, but he seemed as confused as Dean felt. “Jo didn’t have any special abilities, did she?”

“Not in the usual sense,” Missouri replied. “But she was a woman who died violently and, in a way, with her task undone. The children were physically safe, from what I’ve been told, when Jo passed over, but she obviously felt a powerful protective urge towards them. What Michael felt might not have been from his ability at all, but simply Jo reassuring them that everything was okay, so the children would feel no guilt later in life.”

Dean considered the theory. “But wouldn’t Danny have felt something too?”

Missouri shook her head. “And if he did, could he have articulated that at the time?”

“No,” Sam whispered. “He couldn’t have, if he even understood. Let me get this straight, you’re saying that Jo became a spirit? A ghost?”

“For a few moments, yes, that’s what I believe happened.” Missouri answered. “Once the boys were reassured, her task would have been done. Salting and cremating her body would have laid her utterly to rest.”

“So we don’t have to worry about Mikey?” Dean asked. He was glad he was leaning against the kitchen counter, because for some odd reason, his legs felt unsteady. 

The psychic dimpled. “Oh, I didn’t say that. He’s a Winchester; you’ll probably be worrying about him for the rest of his life.” She took a closer look at them. “I tell you what, I’m going to join the others in the next room. You two take a minute.”

In a daze, Sam wandered into Dean’s arms before Missouri even got out of the room. “Do you think she’s right?”

Dean blew out a deep breath. “God, I hope so.”

Sam nodded against Dean’s shoulder. “Me too.” 

They were still standing like that when the boys came running into the room.

“DeeDee, DaSa!” Danny yelled. “You gots to come out to the garage.”

“We have to come out to the garage,” Sam corrected automatically, lifting his head from Dean’s chest.

“Yeah, right now,” Danny started tugging on Sam’s shirt.

Michael was grinning ear to ear. “Grandpa says he’s got a surprise for Grandma.”

Dean let Sam go, spirits immediately buoyed by how normal both of their boys seemed. “Well, I guess we better get out there and see.”

The Roadhouse had a dilapidated garage out back. After getting their coats and making sure their sons had theirs, Sam and Dean allowed themselves to be led to it. The rest of the gang were already there. When he saw his boys coming, John turned to his wife.

“Okay, Liddy, close your eyes.” He instructed.

“John?” She gave him a wary look. “What do you have up your sleeve?”

“You’ll find out faster if you close your eyes,” her husband teased.

“Oh, all right,” she reluctantly did as he asked.

Bobby and John exchanged grins that made them look as devilish as school boys. Moving with exaggerated care, Bobby pulled a box out from a dark corner. John raised a finger to his lips, urging the others to silence, and then reached in. He pulled out a beagle puppy. Michael and Danny barely restrained their squeals.

“Now hold your hands out,” John told his wife.

“All right, John Winchester,” Liddy relented and held her hands out. “But if I end up with a handful of snow or something, it’ll be a very long ride home for you.”

“Nope, nothing like that,” John reassured her. He gently placed the puppy in Liddy’s hands, keeping his own strong hands underneath to steady her as she took the weight. “Careful now.”

Liddy’s eyes popped open as she felt the warm, squirming weight of a pup. “Oh, John!”

As he watched his stepmother hold the puppy, Dean remembered what John had said, when they dropped their own puppies off at his father’s house before their trip to the Mayo. John had said that Liddy liked babies; any kind of babies. It seemed he wasn’t kidding.

“Oh, she’s precious!” Liddy exclaimed. She lifted the puppy up to her face, where it immediately licked her nose.

“Grandpa got you a puppy!” Danny yelled. “It’s just like Egon and Chevy.”

“A cousin, actually,” Bobby commented. He looked very satisfied with himself. “A little bitch.”

Michael gasped and turned to his fathers, eyes wide. “Uncle Bobby said a bad word.”

Sam chuckled. “Not in this case, Michael. Some words can mean more than one thing. A bitch can mean a female dog.”

“Oh,” Michael looked contemplative and Dean reached over and tugged a lock of his son’s hair.

“Hey, not all words have double meanings,” Dean warned his oldest. “If you think a word is naughty, it probably is, so don’t even try it.”

“When in doubt,” Sam added. “Ask.” 

Michael sighed deeply. “All right.”

Ellen and Missouri, in addition to the kids, gathered around Liddy, eager to see the puppy. Dean and Sam wandered over closer to their father.

“Good one, Dad,” Dean congratulated him. “Obvious brownie points.”

“I’m a thoughtful husband,” John replied, a little bit smug. “Liddy spends a lot of time alone while I’m hunting; a dog will keep her company.”

“Couldn’t help but notice that the pup is past the bottle feeding stage,” Sam pointed out.

John’s grin deepened, bringing out the dimples that Sam had inherited. “I said I was a thoughtful husband, not a stupid one.”

“But it’s a girl dog,” Dean commented.

His father shrugged. “Liddy is surrounded by Winchester men; I figured she could use another female to help balance things.”

“Oh, yeah, that’ll balance things out all right,” Dean teased. “She’ll probably name her Princess or Bunny or something.”

“Pink collars,” Sam joined in. “With rhinestones.”

Dean grinned evilly. “Painted toenails. Cute little knit sweaters and all that stuff.”

John’s expression had gotten progressively more desperate at their comments and it was his wife who came to his rescue.

“Oh, boys, stop it,” she chided the brothers. With the puppy still cradled tenderly in her hands, she came over and kissed John on the cheek. “I think it’s incredibly sweet of your father.” She grinned and gave him a sly look. “And it will be nice to have someone in the family who doesn’t consider flannel a fashion necessity.”

The rest of the morning was spent admiring the pup and getting her settled. The boys were full of name suggestions, as were the adults, although Dean was all but certain that Liddy was teasing her husband when she mentioned things like “Sugar” and “Baby” or even “Precious.”

The presence of the puppy changed things a little. Originally, John and Liddy were going to drop Missouri off at the airport, but given their four-footed passenger, Sam and Dean offered. Soon after lunch, goodbyes were made and belongings were packed into vehicles. With a final hug to Ellen and a slap on his good shoulder to Ash, the Winchesters got into the Impala and headed out. The boys were in the back seat and, since it wasn’t that far a drive to the airport, Missouri was in the middle of the front seat.

“You think she’ll be all right?” Dean asked quietly as they drove away. With Bobby and Ash standing to either side of her, Ellen looked a little frail as he watched her form dwindle in the rearview mirror.

“Oh, that woman is tough as nails,” Missouri reassured him. “Now that the memorial is over, she can start concentrating on living again.”

Sam shook his head. “I’m not sure it’ll be that easy.”

“It never is, sweet boy,” she told him. “But I’ve got something that might help.”

“Don’t you always?” Dean quipped, then yelped as she smacked him across the knuckles. “Hey, I’m driving, here.”

“Then keep your attention on the road and off your smart mouth,” she ordered. “What Ellen needs is someone to look after. Ash filled that role admirably, but he’s getting better.”

“Darn him,” Sam murmured, but subsided when she glared at him.

“When Karen passes on, Joshua and his little ones are going to need some help,” Missouri stated. “They’ll be in a world of hurt; Ellen will still be in a world of hurt. I’ve talked to Karen and she’s given her blessing. After she’s gone, I’ll move the family up here. I think all those aching hearts together can help each other heal.”

Dean considered. “You know, that might actually work.”

“Of course it will,” Missouri showed not the slightest doubt. 

The conversation turned to mundane things then and the short ride to the airport passed quickly. Before Dean knew it, he had the Impala pulled into the unloading zone and was getting Missouri’s bag out of the trunk.

“You don’t be strangers now, here?” Missouri told them, hugging each man and child in turn. “You’ll have to come spend a week with me in the summer; by then I could stand some company.”

Dean nodded. Missouri had taken on a lot, helping Joshua’s family cope with Karen’s pending death. It wasn’t that the woman seemed to begrudge helping them deal with the heartbreak, but by summer she could probably do with some company that wasn’t laden with sorrow.

“We will,” Dean promised, leaning in for a hug.

“And don’t worry so much,” Missouri whispered into his ear. “Michael is fine.”

“Like you said, I’ll probably always worry,” Dean whispered back. “I’m a father; it’s what we do.”

“Yes, you are,” Missouri stated as she pulled back. “And you’re a wonderful one.” Her gaze included Sam. “You both are.”

With those surprising words of approval, Missouri grabbed her bag and hurried into the airport. Sam looked at Dean and shrugged, not willing to comment on her un-Missouri-like praise.

“Let’s go home,” Sam said.

And that sounded like a wonderful idea to Dean.

`~to be continued in Healing part 17~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on August 2, 2007


	63. Healing part 17

Memorial Day dawned sharp and bright, as though the Minnesota weather was trying to make up for spring coming so late. With the snow sticking around even longer than normal, work on the memorial dog park didn’t get started when originally planned and it was practically summer by the time the dedication ceremony could be set.

That was fine by Sam Winchester.

“Wow, look at all the people,” Michael exclaimed as they pulled up to the place. 

“Yeah, that’s an awful lot,” Dean agreed, peering through the windshield at the teeming crowd. “Lots and lots and lots, wouldn’t you agree, Sammy?”

“You suck,” Sam muttered under his breath. Dean laughed low and dirty. If the kids hadn’t been present, Sam would have given him the finger.

When Anna Miller from the Nicollet County Canine Unit had called them with the date of the park dedication, she’d asked if a member of the family could say a few words. Dean had answered the phone and happily agreed, then just as happily volunteered Sam to do it.

“Tell me again why I’m the one who gets to make a speech?” Sam complained as they got out of the car. The boys had brought Egon and Chevy and were making sure the puppies, by now half grown, had their leashes well-fastened.

“Because I spoke at Jo’s funeral,” Dean replied smugly. “It’s your turn and, besides, you lecture to your students all the time. This should be a piece of cake.”

Sam looked around the park. It was full of people and pets, almost like it was a fair or something. The police band that was playing didn’t dispel that impression either.

“Is this the same place, DeeDee?” Michael asked.

For a minute, Sam himself wondered. The wooden fort was gone. In its place was a fabric shade structure, with a fountain underneath. Actually, the fountain looked more like a cemented patio, with spouts to shoot water. The water squirted up at irregular intervals, giving the dogs something to chase. There was plenty of grass and room to run, with a fence around the whole thing. Sam noticed several bag dispensers around, along with signs encouraging dog owners to pick up after their pets.

Chairs and a stage had been brought in for the ceremony. Right behind that was a large object shrouded by a tarpaulin. Clearly, that was the memorial, but the Winchesters hadn’t actually seen it yet. The park sponsors had wanted the design to be a surprise. All the family knew for sure was that it honored their dogs and that Joxer and Xena’s ashes were buried underneath.

Thinking about their deceased pets made Sam remember the circumstances of why the park was being dedicated to their dogs and he took a quick look at Danny and Michael. The boys were fine. They’d hovered close to Dean for the first few steps, but the people and the excitement soon sparked their interest and they looked around avidly. 

It was hardly the first time the family had been back to the park. Knowing that the experience could be traumatic for the boys if not handled properly, they’d been back periodically at Dr. Banyon’s suggestion. At first neither child would come close and their fathers didn’t force it. Gradually, though, they calmed down. When the construction had finally started, it had helped a lot. The less the park looked like the place they were attacked, the better the boys felt about being there.

“Ah, the Winchesters,” Anna Miller greeted them. “The whole reason we’re here.”

“Not exactly,” Dean reminded her. “We’re here because of Joxer and Xena.”

“Yes, of course.” She smiled and gestured at the park. “Do you think they would have liked it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Michael responded. “They would have liked it a lot.”

“That’s wonderful,” she replied. “Let’s do a quick tour.”

Miller walked them around the park, explaining each feature as though she were selling a house. In a way, Sam supposed, she was. The park had been created as a memorial to their pets’ sacrifice, it was reasonable that the sponsors would want them to be happy about it.

“You’ve done a wonderful job,” Sam complimented her when they’d done a complete circuit. “All the dogs in the city will be lucky to have this park to use.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you so much.” A man standing on the stage gestured to her and she checked her watch. “Oops. It’s time to get started. If we can have you come to the front with me.”

Sam glanced at Dean and gulped. Addressing a group of students was a far cry from speaking to a large crowd of strangers.

“If it helps, just imagine them naked,” Dean suggested. He leaned forward to whisper something obviously intended for Sam’s ears alone. “And if that doesn’t work, just imagine me naked.”

“Oh, that’s a big help, Dean,” Sam murmured. That would be just what he needed, getting an erection during a public address. It didn’t help his ‘problem’ that Dean was finally back to his normal robust health. They’d ended up going to visit the Grand Canyon during spring break and the change in environment, even for only a couple of weeks, had done his brother a world of good. The shadow of pneumonia was finally gone and, the last time she saw him, Rose was hard-pressed to come up with something better than a hot fudge sundae to use to compare Dean to.

The man who’d gestured to their hostess turned out to be the mayor and the Winchester family was introduced to him and a few other dignitaries. Some, like Sheriff Paulson, Chief Rendler, and Officer Cummins, they already knew. 

“Now, if we can have you all get up on stage, we can get started.” Miller suggested.

But Sam had just seen his father and Liddy arrive. “Wait just a minute, our dad is going to look after the puppies.”

The brothers and their sons walked their puppies over to the couple. Walk might have been an euphemism, since the pups were so excited about all the people and other animals that they were hard to direct.

“This is quite the deal,” John greeted them. 

“And it should be,” Liddy added. Her eyes filled with tears. “When I think about what almost happened. . . .”

“Don’t,” Dean interjected. “Just don’t think about it.”

“Can you watch Egon and Chevy for a minute?” Sam asked. “If we take them up on that stage, it’s likely to get ugly.”

“Sure,” John took their leashes, since Liddy had their dog’s. “Ginny’ll keep them in line.”

After a long and mostly friendly debate, John and Liddy had finally settled on Virginia for the name of their puppy, to honor the state that they’d been living in when they met. It was feminine enough to please Liddy, but not too girly to embarrass John. The puppy’s collar was pink, though, and Dean enjoyed giving his dad shit about it. In fact, he’d bought the collar for the dog himself, simply for that reason.

“Go get ‘em, champ,” John encouraged Sam, knowing his son was on edge about his speech.

“Thanks,” Sam replied, with a nervous smile and then followed Dean and the boys back to the stage.

In short order, Sam stood with Dean at the side of the stage, their boys standing quietly in front of them. Anna Miller stepped in front of the microphone and greeted the crowd, quickly reminding them of the bravery of the dogs it was being dedicated to. “We’re here today because of the sacrifice of two dogs, Joxer and Xena, who loved two little boys very, very much.”

Sam mostly tuned out, even though it was his family being spoken about. He knew the story by heart and even though it had been all over the local media, it felt odd to have something with such a profound impact on his family’s life being discussed in public.

Her introduction was met with enthusiastic applause and then the mayor was up. He spoke in generalities, about how great the city was, how brave its citizens were and how it was an ideal place to live. Sam exchanged a disgusted look with Dean; it was an election year and, boy, did it show.

Sheriff Paulson was next. “The Nicollet County Canine unit is comprised of individuals, both human and canine, who’ve trained for the type of situations the Winchester family encountered. I’m here to tell you that none of our officers could have performed so well. In their honor, I’m proud to announce the dedication of the St. Peter Guardian Dog Park.”

He stepped back and, with a flourish, lifted the tarp. The crowd gasped in surprise, as did Sam and his family. He’d expected a plaque, maybe on a stand of some sort. Instead, he was surprised to see a honest-to-God bronze statue. It was beautifully rendered and was composed of two dogs standing watch over two children. Belatedly, Sam remembered that there was a local artisan known for her bronze work and realized that she must have done the piece. Obviously, the landscaping wasn’t the only reason for the delay.

Dean leaned close and looked at the inscription. When he turned to Sam, his eyes were unusually bright. “It says “To Joxer, Xena and dogs everywhere, who protect and serve, but above all else, love.”

“Mr. Winchester,” Miller called Sam to the microphone. “Could you say a few words for us, please?”

Like he could really talk around the lump in his throat?

Sam was a Winchester, though, and he’d faced worse. He took a deep breath, ruffled both boys’ hair, and approached the microphone. When he got there, he looked out at the crowd, his eyes immediately picking out his father. John nodded at him in encouragement.

“Thank you so much for coming here today and honoring Joxer and Xena,” Sam said. Once he got started, he found the words came easily. “It’s easy to take a pet for granted, even though they enrich our lives in so many ways. Luckily for us, our dogs don’t take us for granted. Every dog loves his or her owner without reservation. Thank God that most of them don’t have to prove it the way ours did. Joxer and Xena should have grown old with us, but I know that they would have rather that Michael and Danny have the chance to grow up. I also know that my husband I will always be grateful to them and give thanks for having them in our lives. It means a lot to us that the city of St. Peter and the Nicollet County Canine Unit have gone to such lengths to make sure that others remember their sacrifice too.”

There was more applause when Sam stepped away from the microphone and he was hugely relieved when he could walk back to his family.

“That was good, DaSa,” Michael complimented him. 

“Yeah, Sammy, you did great,” Dean agreed. 

Sam saw that his brother was holding Danny, who had tears on his cheeks. Sam lifted his eyebrows at Dean, silently asking a question. 

“He misses Joxer,” Dean explained.

“Ah,” Sam leaned forward and kissed his son on the forehead. “You know that Joxer is in doggy heaven, right, Danny?”

“Yeah,” the little boy sniffed. “But I want him here.”

“I know, buddy,” Dean comforted him, rubbing his back. “I know.”

Thankfully, Sam’s short speech had brought the ceremony to a close, but the Winchesters were surrounded by well-wishers when they stepped off the stage. Sam tried to be polite, knowing that at least one thing that the mayor had said was true; the citizens of St. Peter were overall very caring and genuinely concerned about the welfare of the family. Another time, he would have appreciated it, but at the moment he just wanted to help comfort his children.

John Winchester came to the rescue. Rather, the puppies did. John innocently “lost” control of the pups and let them get loose. Egon and Chevy swarmed the Winchesters, effectively dispersing the crowd. Sam was glad and he was even happier when the puppies’ antics got the boys to smile.

“Nice save, Dad,” Sam said in a aside to his father approached.

“Thanks,” John grinned.

Egon and Chevy greeted their boys like they hadn’t seen them in years. Danny squirmed until Dean put him down and then laughed out loud when Chevy tackled him. Michael was grinning as he petted Egon.

“DaSa,” Michael said. “Do you think Xena and Joxer would have liked Egon and Chevy?”

Sam looked at the love that the pups were lavishing on their children. “Oh, yeah. I think they would have liked them a lot.”

It was a dog park, after all, and leashes weren’t mandatory. The boys let their dogs off theirs, as Liddy did with Virginia, and all three pups were off, running. The boys pursued and the brothers watched as the dogs led their kids on a merry chase.

“They look happy,” Dean commented.

“Who?” Sam snorted in amusement. “The boys or the dogs?”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, I see your point.”

Egon was leading the pack of Winchester pups, dog and human alike, and he made a sharp turn, heading back towards the adults. The pup was either incredibly ambitious or just wasn’t paying attention, because he darted between Dean’s legs, the other two puppies followed suit and then the two boys. Dean went down in a tangle of puppies and children.

There was a bad moment, with Sam thinking that Dean or one of the kids had gotten injured, but then he realized that Dean was laughing. Not chuckling or smirking, but belly laughing and reaching for the nearest pup or boy to tickle.

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean called to him. Somehow it had become Michael, Danny, Egon, Chevy and Virginia vs. DeeDee. . . and DeeDee was losing. “Help me.”

Sam felt joy burbling up and that’s when he realized it. They were on the very ground that Gordon Walker had started his assault on their family. It was months later, though, and the boys were fine, Dean was healthy, and Sam was easy enough with his own conscience to sleep untroubled again. The man who’d tried to destroy them had failed and with puppy kisses and children’s laughter, the last of Gordon Walker’s shadow had finally been dispelled.

“All right, boys, I’ll show you how it’s done,” he grinned madly.

And laughing, Sam Winchester joined his family.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on August 2, 2007
> 
> This concludes this three part arc within the Baby Steps universe. The next chapter will go back to the short, mostly fluffy, non-chronological order ficlets.


	64. Monkey See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is five, Danny less than one

Saturday mornings were one of Sam’s favorite times of the week. There was no rushing around to get ready for work, school or daycare and the family could spend quality time together. Not that they didn’t throughout the week, but there was something about lazy, drawn-out breakfasts that made them somehow more special.

Sam finished loading the dishwasher with the things they’d dirtied so far and turned around to lean against the counter. His family was sitting around the table and that was a sight that Sam never tired of looking at. Dean was feeding the baby, trying to get more of the mashed bananas in Danny’s mouth than on his bib, while still managing to hold an apparently deep conversation with Michael. 

John sat looking on, quiet pride shining in his eyes as he watched his son interact with the kids. Their dad managed to stop in whenever he was in the vicinity, which happened on a fairly regular basis. Sam didn’t remember quite so much paranormal activity going on in the Virginia area before they’d moved there, but refrained from commenting on it. John wasn’t coming around only to see his sons and grandsons. Liddy Devereaux was another draw. His father’s courtship of the woman was almost painfully slow to watch. It was progressing, much to Sam and Dean’s amusement and delight, even if at a snail’s pace.

“Yeah, but Luke’s got a lightsaber,” Michael was saying to his father. “An’ he can use the Force.”

Dean shook his head as he used the spoon to scoop up some banana that was escaping Danny’s mouth. “Han’s pretty good with a blaster, Mikey. Besides, he’s got something that Luke doesn’t, even if Luke is good with that Jedi mind thingy.”

“What?” Michael’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Han’s skilled with the chicks,” Dean informed his five year-old. “I’d like to see Luke get even an Ewok to kiss him, let alone a princess.”

John snorted and Sam’s grin widened. Dean loved having someone to talk Star Wars with and took the subject far more seriously than his flippant comment implied.

“Girls,” Michael wrinkled his nose. “Yuck.”

Dean chuckled. “You’ll change your mind about that someday, trust me.” 

Just then Danny spit out a mouthful of banana, giggling. “Dee, dee, dee, dee.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dean grumbled, but he threw a triumphant look over his shoulder at Sam. Michael had said ‘Da” first for Sam, so Dean was feeling a little cocky that Danny was saying his name first. “You sure are one messy kid.”

“DeeDee,” Michael said, legs swinging back and forth as he sat in his chair. “When will Danny be old enough?”

Dean was distracted when he answered, busy wiping spit banana off the wall. “Old enough for what? To play?”

“No,” Michael swallowed his bite of pancake. “Old enough to get married.”

Sam was as surprised as Dean was at the question. He walked over the table and sat down to join the others.

“Married?” Dean commented, one eyebrow raised. “He’s a little young for that, don’t you think?”

Michael nodded vigorously. “He still poops his pants and it’d be no fun to marry someone that stinky.”

“So did you have anyone in mind?” Sam asked, half-joking. If Michael’s earlier response had surprised him, then his son’s answer to the second question was downright shocking.

“Yeah,” Michael replied, in a tone that clearly indicated that he thought his father was being particularly slow. “Me.”

For a heartbeat there was complete silence and then a choking sound was heard from John’s side of the table. Sam looked over at his father to see John wiping his mouth and setting his coffee mug down. Apparently Michael’s comment had caught his grandfather mid-sip. John cleared his throat a couple of times. Dean’s hand seemed frozen in the midst of feeding Danny another bite.

“You okay, Grandpa?” Michael chirped.

“I’m fine,” John replied in a choked voice. He glanced quickly over and Sam could clearly see his father’s eyes dancing with mischief.

“Michael,” Sam said seriously to his son, trying not to frown in disapproval at his father’s reaction, knowing the child wouldn’t understand the expression. “Why do you think you’re going to marry your brother?”

“You married DeeDee,” Michael stated simply. 

“Mikey, we explained that,” Dean joined the conversation. “Not everybody marries their brothers. Your DaSa and me are kinda different that way.”

“But I’m a Winchester,” Michael claimed proudly. “I’m different too.”

John made another choking noise and Sam put his long legs to use kicking him under the table. Then a thought occurred to him and he decided the logic was simple enough to use it with his son.

“Grandpa didn’t marry his brother,” Sam pointed out.

Michael rolled his eyes. “Grandpa doesn’t have a brother, DaSa. I do and I’m gonna marry him, just like you and DeeDee.”

A deep rumbling could be heard from John and Sam did glare at him. Shoulders shaking, the eldest Winchester stood. “Excuse me. I have to get this coffee off my shirt or it’ll stain.”

The excuse would have been plausible if it hadn’t come from a man who did laundry maybe once a month. Or had, until he started dating Liddy. Once John left the room, the remaining Winchesters could hear his laughter finally break fully loose.

“I didn’t say anything funny,” Michael said in a small voice.

“No, you didn’t,” Dean replied firmly. Sam was inordinately pleased. Dean had become much better in recent years about not following their dad blindly, but Sam was still glad to see his brother showing open disapproval for John’s reaction. “Look, Mikey, you know how you get a glowy feeling about how DaSa and I feel for each other? Or how Grandpa feels for Miss Liddy?”

“Not that he’ll ever admit it,” Sam murmured softly. Dean glared at him, but Michael apparently hadn’t heard.

“Yeah,” Michael grinned in delight. “It’s all sparkly and hot.”

“Okay,” Dean continued. “And what kind of feeling do you get from me and DaSa about you and Danny?”

“It’s fuzzy,” Michael said decisively. “Fuzzy and warm.”

Dean nodded in encouragement. “Now I want you to think about how you feel about Danny. Is it sparkly or fuzzy?”

Michael’s face screwed up in concentration. Both fathers sat with their hearts in their mouths until the little boy finally sighed deeply. “It’s fuzzy.”

“Well, there you go then,” Dean responded. “To get married, you have to have the sparkly feeling.”

“Man,” Michael grumbled, disappointed. “This doesn’t mean I have to marry that ol’ Gretchen, does it?”

Sam grinned in a combination of relief and amusement. Gretchen was Dana Scully’s eldest daughter and, although she was several months younger than Michael, had already set her cap for him. Michael was less than thrilled with the idea.

“No, that doesn’t mean you have to marry Gretchen,” Sam assured him. “You’re too young to worry about all of this anyway. You have to be a grown-up to get married.”

“Can I tell her that the next time she says I gotta be her husband?” Michael pleaded.

“Absolutely,” Dean reached over and ruffled his son’s hair. “Now, if you’re done, go wash up.” Michael obediently got up and started trotting towards the bathroom. “And help Grandpa with his shirt while you’re at it.”

“Okay,” Michael called out over his shoulder as he left the room.

When the boy was gone, Sam slumped in his chair. “Dean, we’ve ruined our children.”

Dean snorted. “Why do you say that?”

Sam looked at him in disbelief. “Our son was planning on marrying his baby brother. Doesn’t that strike you as unusual?”

“Kids just mimic what their parents do,” Dean shrugged, then grinned. “When you were little, you used to run around with a stick, saying it was your ghost whapper and that you were going to be just like Dad.”

“This is different,” Sam said softly. “Dean, this could really be a problem when they get older.”

Dean picked Danny up and slung him over his shoulder, rubbing the baby’s back. “Mikey and Danny will grow up with two parents who love each other. Yeah, we don’t meet the cookie cutter notion of a family, but who does nowadays?”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Sam sighed.

His brother easily picked up on Sam’s lack of enthusiasm. Dean put the baby on his hip before he turned back to Sam, hurt in his eyes.

“Do you think there’s something wrong with us being together?” Dean asked softly.

Sam winced. He hadn’t realized how Dean would take his words. “No. Hell, no. Don’t ever think that.”

“Mikey wanted what he sees us have,” Dean told him, walking over to kiss the top of Sam’s head. “He wants to be married to someone he loves. I don’t think that’s so bad.” He handed Sam the baby. “If that doesn’t convince you, then just hold onto Danny for a minute. That’ll remind you of just how good we are together.”

Danny giggled, trying his best to stand in Sam’s lap. Sam felt his lips curl up at his son’s determination; the expression on the infant’s face was pure Dean. “Your DeeDee is a lot smarter than he lets on,” he told his son.

Dean snorted as he headed for the door that led to the hallway. “Yeah, right, Mr. Soon-To-Be-College professor. Like I’m really the smart one in this relationship.”

Sam made a mental roll of the eyes. Sometimes he wondered if he’d ever manage to convince Dean that he was intelligent. “Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna have a little talk with Dad,” Dean stated. “He was less than helpful.”

“Well, maybe you should give him a break,” Sam suggested, bouncing Danny on his lap carefully. Danny might want wilder movement, but knowing the baby had just finished his breakfast, Sam wasn’t about to get more rambunctious with him. “If Michael and Danny do get married someday, I love them, so I’d understand, but hearing Michael say that he was going to marry his baby brother kind of put into perspective what Dad went through when he found out about us.”

“Hey, neither one of our kids is having sex until he’s at least 37 or I’m dead and buried,” Dean commented before he walked out. “Whichever one comes first.”

In the next room, Dean’s voice could be heard calling for his father and Sam grinned at the irritation in his brother’s tone. “Grandpa’s in trouble,” he told Danny, who just grinned at him toothlessly.

Sam hugged his little boy tight. Whomever Michael and Danny chose to marry, whether that person was a man or a woman or even each other, he could only hope that they found someone as good for them as their DeeDee was for him.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted August 6, 2007


	65. Territorial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is about six years old and Danny two

Intellectually, Dean knew he had nothing to worry about. Sam was as true as the day was long; his brother would never cheat on him. Unfortunately, however, every time Dean visited the campus where Sam taught, old insecurities would rear their ugly heads. Sam had, literally, known Dean his whole life; Dean was old news. At the college, though, Sam was surrounded by nubile young students and, frankly, didn’t seem all that much older than the glorified kids that he taught. If Dean were one of Sam’s students, he knew that his mind wouldn’t exactly be on his lessons; he’d be more interested in getting into his sexy teacher’s pants. Dean knew from experience that there were few people more resourceful than a horny young adult and that was what he was worried about.

In other words, Dean trusted Sam, but not his students.

At dinner the night before, Sam had been waxing eloquently about a young woman in one of his classes. Jenna was bright, Jenna had overcome numerous financial and family issues to even make it to college in the first place, Jenna volunteered at a local women’s shelter.

By dessert, even the very name Jenna made Dean want to puke.

Later that night, Dean had difficulty sleeping. He kept imaging what this Jenna looked like and tried not to think of the original Indiana Jones movie. Sam was an anthropology professor just like Indy and, in Dean’s opinion, was even more attractive than Harrison Ford, even in Ford’s prime. It wasn’t hard to imagine Sam’s students drooling over him just like Indy’s had.

A pair of long arms wrapped around his waist, equally big hands settling on Dean’s stomach. “You’ve been awfully quiet tonight,” Sam asked sleepily. “Everything okay?”

“Just thinking about that concert auditorium job I’ve got later in the week. The wiring’s more complicated than what I’ve done before,” Dean lied as he turned in Sam’s arms. “I’m good.”

There was enough light coming in through the window to illuminate Sam’s slow and wicked smile. “Only good, huh? Let’s see if we can make you better.”

Unfortunately for the Winchesters, Sam’s idea of making Dean ‘better’ got a little wild and they didn’t notice that they’d knocked the alarm clock off the nightstand. When the alarm didn’t go off the next morning, it threw the family’s whole schedule out of whack. Luckily for them, Danny was an early riser and the toddler’s demands for breakfast woke his fathers up. After that, it was a mad dash to get ready for school and work. Having a later schedule than his brother, Dean was left to clean up after breakfast, while Sam dropped the boys off at daycare and school on his way to the college.

It was while Dean was putting the orange juice away that he noticed that Sam had forgotten his lunch. For a minute that was all the insulated bag was, a forgotten lunch. It only took a moment, though, for Dean to realize that it also represented an opportunity. 

Grinning like a madman, he murmured to himself. “Can’t have Sammy going hungry, can we? A hungry Samzilla is an unhappy Samzilla.”

With a lighter heart, Dean headed upstairs for his shower. He didn’t have to be on his current jobsite until early afternoon, so had some time to work with. He didn’t tarry, even though the hot water felt good. He had a mission to accomplish; a very special hunt to execute. Wrapped in a towel a few minutes later, Dean stood in front of his closet. The good thing about being an electrician was that his wardrobe hadn’t changed much from his hunting days. His side of the closet was filled with more denim and flannel than Sam’s, which was a constant source of amusement to the older Winchester. A college professor had a lot of leeway on what he wore to the classroom, but Sam had to look more presentable than Dean did and Dean had a lot of fun rubbing that fact in. 

Dean ran his hand over the jeans hanging in the closet, fingers automatically going to his favorite pair. They were threadbare and had been washed so often that they were as soft as a baby’s butt. They also clung tightly in all the right places, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. For that very reason, the last time Dean had put them on, Sam had immediately forbidden Dean from wearing them outside the house. Normally an ultimatum like that would just inspire Dean to find the in the most public place he could think of to wear them in, but he was saving that for a special occasion. Instead, he pulled out his second favorite pair. These jeans were also worn and clingy, but left an inch or two to the imagination. After adding a tight green t-shirt that was the color of his eyes, Dean was ready to go.

Remembering only at the last minute to grab Sam’s lunch, Dean headed out to the Impala. She sat in the driveway, a thing of beauty, but even beauty needed the occasional trip to the salon. 

“Well, old girl, you ready to beautified?” Dean asked his car, caressing the door before opening it and sliding in. He looked at his watch. Yeah, he had enough time to get the Impala detailed before showing up on campus.

Dean’d had Sam’s schedule memorized before Sam had, so it was child’s play to be waiting outside the building that housed the classroom that Sam taught his morning class in. Dean had circled a couple of times before he found a parking spot, but the wait had been worth it. He slid the Impala into a space situated directly in the sunshine. His baby gleamed, putting the newer cars surrounding her to shame.

Knowing that Sam’s class would be over at any minute and that his brother would be heading over to another building for the next one, Dean got out of the car and came around its front. He left his sunglasses on and leaned against the hood. For the first time, he felt totally confident while on campus. He looked good; his car looked good. Sam wouldn’t know what hit him.

“Wow. Sweet ride, mister.”

Dean looked slowly over, to see a young man in a football jersey eyeing his car. Normally, compliments about the Impala were enough to get someone on Dean’s good side, but this was obviously a jock. A young, cocky jock who may have been eyeing Sammy and was definitely reaching out to stroke Dean’s car.

“Touch it and I’ll kill you and render your body fat down to use as car wax,” Dean growled, lowering his sunglasses just enough to glare over them at the boy. 

The kid snatched his hand away from the Impala and backed up a few steps before hurrying off in a seemingly random direction.

“Have a nice day,” Dean called out in a falsely chipper voice. He pushed his sunglasses up and muttered under his breath. “Punk. No, not even a punk, a puppy punk wanna-be.”

Dean went back to watching the door of the building he was staking out. He couldn’t help but hear the murmurs of the students meandering by and since he got a couple of whistles and a cat call, he knew they were appreciative comments that were being made.

Finally, Dean saw his brother’s tall form exit the building and straightened in anticipation. He took off his sunglasses to get a better look. Sam was in the center of a gaggle of what were obviously students and he towered over them. Sam was talking and, as the group approached, Dean could see that the others were hanging on his every word. Dean smiled. That was as it should be. 

“Yo, Sam!” He called out when Sammy was close enough to hear him.

Sam came to a dead stop, eyes immediately latching on to Dean. Dean was gratified to see the surprised but genuine smile light up his brother’s face. Pushing himself off his car, he grabbed the insulated bag and sauntered over to where Sam stood with his students.

“Dean, what are you doing here?” Sam asked as he approached.

“You forgot your lunch,” Dean explained, holding up the bag. “Didn’t want your students to have to put up with a cranky professor.”

“Thanks,” Sam grinned as he replied. “I have been known to bite a few heads off if I skip a meal, so there’s no tell how much bloodshed you’ve prevented today.”

From the titters and giggles of the students, they knew how unlikely a scenario that was and Dean relaxed a little. When he’d conceived his plan, he hadn’t planned on how far to take it, but suddenly he wanted to push the envelope as far as he could. It was Sam’s first semester teaching at the school, but the university was very forward-thinking and had an aggressive equal opportunity employer policy. Sam was hardly the only professor in a same sex relationship and the other faculty had been very supportive.

“Well, I’ve got to get to work,” Dean stated slyly. “But before I go, how about you thank me properly?”

Dean moved slowly so he could judge Sam’s reaction. He knew what he wanted to do, but he’d back down if his brother showed any discomfort. Dean leaned forward as he reached to wrap a hand around the back of Sam’s neck. He pulled his brother’s head down and kissed him long and slow, not to mention deep. By the time their lips parted, the gaggle of college students surrounding them had gone utterly silent. More importantly, Sam’s eyes were dilated and his breathing was shallow.

“Thanks,” Sam murmured as he licked his lips.

“Anytime,” Dean grinned. He reached up and wiped away a trickle of spit that had escaped him.

He turned to go, thinking he’d pushed things far enough. The students just watched him, jaws agape and eyes wide. Dean’d only gone a couple of steps passed them, though, before Sam’s voice pulled him up short.

“Wait a minute, Dean,” Sam called. “You forgot my milk money.”

Before Dean could turn around, Sam was pressed up behind him and his brother’s long arms were reaching around to Dean’s front. Somehow, Sam managed to wriggle those huge of hands of his into Dean’s jean’s pockets. From his words, Dean supposed that Sam was pretending to go after the loose change that Dean habitually kept in his pockets. Dean, however, knew better and shivered when he felt Sam’s warm breath tickling his ear.

“You are SO getting lucky tonight,” Sam whispered low enough that only Dean could hear him. Straightening, Sam pulled his hands out of Dean’s pockets and stepped away. “And thanks again. For bringing my lunch, that is.”

Dean looked over his shoulder. Sam’s face was virtually shining with innocence, but his eyes were full of wickedness. Beyond him, the college students were quiet and flushed. If the pants of the couple of male students in the group were any indication, Dean’s public display of affection had accomplished exactly what he’d set out to do. With any luck, one of the witnesses was Saint Jenna.

Not trusting himself to speak, Dean just gave his brother a sloppy salute and made his way to the Impala as best he could, given his body’s reaction to Sam’s groping. By the time he was seated in the car, Sam and company were on the move. Dean watched them, waiting until Sam had turned back to wave at him before starting the car up and pulling out. 

Dean had his own work to get to. He really did have that complex wiring job to figure out, but now he had an added task to keep him busy. Namely, figuring out what excuses to give the guys at work the next day when he came in limping.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted April 1, 2007


	66. The Hard Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is less than one week old. (Slight squick factor if changing a diaper bothers you.)

Michael is less than one week old. (Slight squick factor if changing a diaper bothers you.)  
Sam Winchester did not sleep well under normal circumstances. Nestled in his brother’s arms, Sam could often find something resembling a good night’s sleep, but even then, he slept in starts and fits, his rest marred by bad dreams. The low rumble of Dean’s voice and the soft stroke of his hand inevitably soothed Sam back into more gentle slumber, but sleep was generally iffy for Sam. It was something that both men had learned to live with as a part of their everyday life.

The first week of his son’s life, though, was anything but normal or routine for Sam. With Dean still recovering from the blood loss and general weakness that the birth had caused, Sam was trying his best to make sure that Dean got as much rest as possible. So when he heard the butterfly snuffle sounds that were the first sign of Michael waking up, Sam carefully extricated himself from Dean’s warm body and padded over to the bassinet. They had a nightlight near it and, as he approached, Sam could see that his son was awake.

“Hey there, bright eyes,” he said softly with a deep grin that always seemed to surface when he was around the baby. “Let’s give Daddy Dean a break and let him sleep, huh?”

Sam gently lifted the newborn. After a week, he was getting used to the baby’s small size, but his hands still seemed freakishly big in comparison. Michael didn’t seem to mind, just snuggling in to his young father’s broad chest.

“Ugh, you’re wet,” Sam complained, the loving tone at odds with his words. 

Still moving as quietly as he could, Sam went over to the changing table, cooing at the newborn as he walked. Michael just stared back solemnly, occasionally smacking his lips as if reminding his father that he better be fast if he didn’t want the waterworks to start. Sam didn’t really mind. Of the three Winchesters, he was the least experienced in baby wrangling and didn’t often get a chance to interact with Michael on a one-on-one basis.

“Hang in there, buddy,” Sam whispered hoarsely. “We’ll get your diaper changed and then we’ll sneak into the kitchen for a snack. I’m a little hungry too, so your timing’s superb.”

As Sam was making quick work of the snaps that fastened Michael’s sleeper, a soft light flooded the room. Surprised and a little disappointed, he turned enough to see Dean propped up on one elbow, having just turned on the bedside lamp. His brother was still rumpled with sleep and Dean’s eyes were half open.

“Wha’s goin’ on?” Dean asked, rubbing his face with the hand that wasn’t supporting him.

“It’s nothing,” Sam assured him. “Michael’s just ready to eat, is all. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of.” He turned back to the baby and cooed again. “Won’t I, Michael? Daddy Sam can take care of his boy.”

Sam heard a snort from his brother and then the rustle of sheets as Dean settled back in bed. Knowing he had a limited time before Michael started demanding his dinner, Sam tried to work quickly. He got the fresh diaper out and ready, as well as the wipes. Steeling himself, he removed the soiled one.

“That’s not so bad,” Sam told his son, still using a singsong voice. “No poopie, just wet.”

“I can’t believe you said ‘poopie,’ dude,” Dean teased. “You are so soft.”

“You’re going to be saying a lot of words you’re not used to saying, Dean. Because if you don’t and our son’s first word is a cuss word,” Sam countered in that same tone, “Then you’re not getting any nookie for a year.”

That got him another snort.

“Sure, Sammy, me not getting any means you’ll not be getting any,” Dean’s voice sounded sleepy. “That’s not gonna happen. Not for a whole year.”

Sam grinned. Dean could always be counted on for banter, even in the middle of the night. “Fine. But I won’t do that thing with my tongue you like so much.”

Dean’s gulp was audible. “For a whole year?” 

“Yup, count ‘em. Twelve long months.” Sam turned his attention back to the baby as he got serious about cleaning Michael’s butt. “Hey, your belly ribbon’s looking pretty good there, Michael. Man, I never thought about how belly buttons started.”

“Um. . . Sam?” Dean was unusually hesitant. “You need to watch - . . . .”

“I got it, Dean,” Sam interrupted. “I know I’m not as good as you and Dad when it comes to changing the baby, but I am a college graduate. I think I can figure it out.”

“Okay,” Dean replied. “Have it your way.”

Sam turned back to Michael to finish diapering him when all of a sudden his son. . . erupted. Sam could think of no other word for it as Michael suddenly started peeing, the yellow stream shooting up like a fountain. He felt the warmth as the urine hit his ear and doused his shoulder. Sam blinked for a moment and then reached frantically for the clean diaper, covering the baby’s little penis and stopping the wetting.

Behind him, he heard Dean laughing. When he swiveled to glare at his brother, he saw that Dean was doubled over and holding his stomach.

“Don’t make me laugh, Sammy,” Dean gasped. “It hurts.”

“Very funny,” Sam growled. He could feel warm liquid dripping off his earlobe onto his shoulder. 

“I tried to warn you,” Dean reminded him. “But no, Dr. Spock wouldn’t listen to his lowly brother.”

Sam peeked cautiously under the diaper to see if Michael was done. Seeing that he was, he tossed the formerly clean diaper aside and picked up the wipes. Taking a handful, he scrubbed at the side of his face.

“Here, I’ll get this,” Dean was suddenly by his side and reaching for the baby. “You might want to change your shirt. And wipe off the wall. Maybe check the carpet.”

It was hard, but Sam managed not to bite his brother’s head off. Glowering at everything in general, he grabbed some more wipes and started doing as Dean suggested. Baby pee wasn’t as gross as some of the liquids they’d encountered while hunting, but Sam knew full well he’d be living this incident down for the rest of his life.

“Everything okay, boys?” Their dad was standing in the doorway, looking rumpled but not the slightest bit sleepy. After years of hunting, John Winchester woke up fast.

“Mikey got Sammy but good,” Dean was still chuckling. He’d already finished changing the baby’s diaper and was expertly putting the newborn into a clean sleeper. “Excellent aim there, kiddo.”

Michael didn’t take the praise well. His little chin trembled and, with a snuffle of warning, he let loose with a loud wail.

“Quit playing around and get your son fed,” John rumbled. Scratching at his hip, he headed down the hall. “I’ll get the bottle started.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean responded cheerfully. “We’ll be there in a minute.”

Sam sighed and Dean turned at the sound. His brother swaddled the baby before placing the warm bundle into Sam’s arms.

“Don’t look like that, Sam,” Dean ran a finger over Michael’s hair and leaned forward to kiss the newborn on the head. Before pulling away, he bestowed another kiss on Sam’s lips. “When you were Mikey’s age, you got Dad even worse. Right in the choppers.”

“I did?” Sam asked in surprise. “But he’d already been through you being a baby by then; Dad should have known better.”

“Yup,” Dean agreed. “And Mom went to great lengths to remind him of that too.” He leaned into Sam. “Don’t worry, it probably happens to every new father; new mothers too. You’ll get the hang of it. Besides, what’s a little piss among family? Mikey’s worth it.”

Sam smiled, in total agreement. “Yes, yes he is.”

But, despite Dean’s reassurance, Sam never did live it down.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted April 22, 2007


	67. Mother's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is less than one year old.

When the doorbell rang on a particular Sunday in the middle of May, Sam was cleaning up Michael after feeding him. The timing was perfect; he had a legitimate reason to make Dean answer the door.

“Dean, can you get that?” Sam called out. “I’ve got the baby.”

Dean’s voice was a little distant as responded with an “Okay,” but Sam could hear the sound of his brother coming down the stairs.

“I can get it, Sam,” John offered, making to get up from the table. Their father had come into town on Friday and had been helping Sam feed the baby.

“No, Dean needs to get it,” Sam waved his father off, a big grin lighting up his face.

John’s eyes narrowed. “Sam, what are you up to?”

“Nothing,” Sam pulled his best innocent face, but it only made his father laugh.

“You never were as good at bullshitting as your brother,” John waggled a finger at Sam. “I just hope you haven’t started another one of those prank wars of yours. You’re parents now and too old for that crap.”

Sam’s smile turned tender. “No, it’s not a prank.”

John tried, but he couldn’t pry any more information out of his son. He didn’t have to wait long, though, to find out what was going on. In a few minutes, Dean came walking into the kitchen and he was holding a large bouquet of flowers. John whistled long and low.

“You got a secret admirer?” Their father asked.

“I dunno,” Dean was clearly perplexed. “The delivery guy said they were for Dean Winchester, but I don’t know who the hell would send me something like that.”

Sam shrugged as nonchalantly as he could manage. “There’s usually a card.”

Dean looked at him oddly, but started digging through the flower bouquet without another word. It was comprised of pastel flowers of all sorts, although there were more roses — pink — than anything else. The whole thing was in a pretty ceramic bowl, one that could be reused later for any number of other things.

Finally, Dean found the card and opened it. As he read it, his face was expressionless. By that time, Sam had finished wiping Michael down and was holding him while swaying slowly from side to side. It hid his nervousness; it seemed to be taking forever for Dean to read a few short lines.

“Well, what does it say?” John asked impatiently, saving Sam the trouble.

“It says ‘Happy Mother’s Day, love Mikey and Sammy.’” Dean’s voice was flat. He turned a baleful gaze on Sam. “Is this some sort of joke?”

“What?” His brother wasn’t exactly having the type of reaction that Sam had anticipated. “Of course it’s not a joke. This is your first Mother’s Day since Michael was born; I thought you should have something special.”

Dean tossed the card down onto the table, where the flowers already sat. “I’m not a mother, Sam. I can’t believe you sent me flowers.”

“You gave birth,” Sam replied stubbornly.

“Give me a break; I had a pussy for, what? A day or two?” Dean grumbled. “That doesn’t make me a freakin’ girl.” He strode towards the back door. “I need some air.”

The room was silent as the door slammed behind him. Michael started to whimper and then began to cry.

“What did I do wrong?” Sam asked his father, absently bouncing Michael in his arms in an attempt to calm him. 

“Sam, I can’t believe a man as smart as you can be so dumb,” John told him, getting up with a sigh.

Sam thought hard about it, but all that he could think of was that he’d tried to do something nice for Dean and it had blown up in his face. “What?”

“Dean’s little sensitive about that whole vagina thing, even if it was temporary,” John pointed out. “What on earth possessed you to think he needed to celebrate Mother’s Day, a woman’s holiday? And with flowers, no less?”

“I just. . . .” Sam sputtered as he tried to explain. “I just wanted him to know how much it meant to me that he gave birth to our child.”

Smiling, John took the crying baby from Sam’s arms. “He knows that. Haven’t you ever seen how he looks at you when you’re holding the baby? Dean doesn’t need any roses to know how thankful you are.”

Sam thought about how tender Dean was with Michael and how he loved to just watch while Sam fed or bathed him. Dean was gruff and cocky, but there was a world of gentleness underneath the tough guy act and Dean went to great lengths to hide it.

His dad was right, Sam was an idiot.

“Can you take care of Michael for a few minutes?” He asked, already moving towards the back door. “I’ve got some damage control to do.”

He heard his father murmur an agreement, but Sam’s attention was already on where he was going. There was only one place that Dean would be; the shed out back. It was detached from the rest of the house and was Dean’s private territory. Sure enough, when Sam walked out there, he found the Impala with the hood up and Dean’s ass sticking out from underneath.

Sam walked over to the workbench and leaned up against it. He knew from the tensing of his brother’s back that Dean knew he was there. Sam’s presence wasn’t acknowledged for several minutes, but he was loathe to break the silence. It could be much worse.

“You wanna hand me the monkey wrench,” Dean asked, holding out one hand behind him and wiggling his fingers. “It’s the gray metal thingy with the adjustable jaw.”

Sighing, Sam moved to obey. As good as he was with books and research, Sam sucked at working on cars and they both knew it. At least, though, Dean was speaking to him.

“I know you’re not a girl,” Sam stated quietly. “It’s just that Michael’s already a few months old and I still walk around amazed that he even exists.” Dean’s posture relaxed minutely and Sam continued, but he was still pretty much talking to Dean’s ass. Even so, Sam was hopeful that he was getting through to his brother. “And you did that. You nourished him within your body and almost died bringing him into the world and it’s a miracle. I just. . . don’t know how to thank you for that.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Dean answered, finally coming out from under the hood. He wouldn’t look at Sam while he wiped his hands off on a rag that was already dirty with grease. “He’s my son too.” 

“I know,” Sam stated quietly. “I just. . . I love you and I wanted you to know.”

Dean nodded and when he looked up at Sam, his eyes were full of love and mischief. “I know, Sam, but. . . flowers? Dude, that’s lame.”

Sam laughed sheepishly. “I know, I know, but I don’t exactly have much experience in all of this Mother’s Day stuff.”

And then it hit Sam like a ton of bricks. Sam hadn’t had much experience with Mother’s Day, but Dean had. Dean’d had four of them before Mary Winchester’s death.

“This isn’t just about a lingering vagina sensitivity, is it?” Sam asked gently. “This is about Mom.”

When Dean abruptly looked away, Sam knew he’d nailed it. “Dean?”

His brother had to swallow a couple of times before he answered. “I wish like anything she could see him.” Dean met Sam’s eyes and Sam could see that his brother’s were shining with unshed tears. “I think she’d be really proud to see her grandson.”

“I’m sure she would,” Sam replied. He pushed off from the workbench and strode to where Dean was leaning against the Impala. He carefully propped himself next to the other man. “We could go to Lawrence if you want and visit her grave.”

Dean shook his head. “No, thanks. Wherever Mom is, she’s not there. We didn’t even have a body to bury. Her tombstone’s just a random piece of granite, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“If it helps, I’m sure she can see Michael from heaven,” Sam offered tentatively. He knew that Dean and God weren’t exactly on speaking terms.

It hurt to see Dean try to smile and see it come out as a sad little smirk. “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Sam nodded, but didn’t try and press his brother. He did put his arm around the other man and was gratified when Dean leaned into the embrace. For several moments, they just sat quietly, soaking up each other’s presence.

“Sammy, I’m sorry I didn’t exactly appreciate your present,” Dean apologized. 

“And I’m sorry I got you a girly thing like flowers,” Sam replied. “I’ll do better on Father’s Day, I promise.”

Dean kissed him on the tip of the nose. “Well, if you do roses again, just make sure they’re red, for passion, and not some sissy color like pink.”

Relieved, Sam chuckled. “Red roses, kill the pink. Got it.”

“And I want a corsage, not a bouquet,” Dean continued with a perfectly straight face. “Something I can wear down to the hardware store and be proud of.”

With a wink and a condescending pat on Sam’s hip, Dean swaggered towards the house. Sam glared at his brother’s back for a moment and then grinned broadly.

A corsage for Father’s Day. Sam could do that and Dean couldn’t even bitch, because he’d asked for it.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted May 13, 2007


	68. Look Who's Talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is less than one year.

"All I’m saying, Dean, is that if our son’s first word is a cuss word, then you are in a world of trouble.”

Dean got out of the car and gave Sam a breezy smile over the roof of the Impala. “C’mon, Sammy, he’s a Winchester. Mikey’s bound to do a little cussing.”

Sam didn’t let Dean’s innocent expression sway him. “Not while he’s still in diapers.” He pointed at Dean. “And don’t say anything about me acting like a girl, either. I’m not asking you to talk as pure as the newly fallen snow all the time, just to be more careful when you’re around Michael.”

“Fine,” Dean rolled his eyes. “Gee willikers, Sammy, if it’s that important to you, gosh, I’ll try ever so hard not to be a potty mouth.”

Sarcasm didn’t work on Sam anymore than the innocent expression had. “Thank you, I’d appreciate it.”

“He just doesn’t understand us, baby,” Dean said as he stroked the side of the Impala. 

It’d been almost a week since they’d driven the old girl. Severe weather had been threatening and while Dean would lay odds on the Impala making it through any storm, neither did he want to risk hail damage, not when there was Sam’s SUV available as a willing sacrifice. So the Impala had stayed safely in the garage and they’d used Sam’s vehicle. Now, though, they were on their way to pick up Michael before meeting Dana Scully’s family for the weekend. There was no way that Dean would let Fox Mulder see him in anything so mundane as an SUV, so the Impala had been brought out in all of her glory before the brothers headed off to Liddy’s to pick up their son.

Even Sam had been glad to see her, if only because it made Dean so happy. Not that he would admit it. “You know, if you two need a little time alone, I can go in and get Michael by myself.”

Dean patted the Impala on the hood before hurrying to catch up to Sam. “Nah, we’re good.” He nudged his brother. “Admit it, you’re jealous.”

Sam snorted. “Of a car? Hardly.” He rang Liddy’s doorbell and waited. Just as he saw her approaching, he turned towards his brother. “Although if you ever start having sex with her, I’m tossing you out on your ass.”

Since the door was in the process of opening, Dean could only sputter instead replying. Sam gave Liddy his widest grin. It wasn’t often he got the last word with Dean; life was sweet.

“Hi, Liddy,” he greeted her. “Was Michael a good boy today?”

She looked at his smiling face to Dean, still behind him. He could only imagine what expression his brother wore. It only distracted her a moment, however, as Sam’s question brought her back to her favorite subject; the children in her care.

“Oh, Michael’s always an angel,” Liddy told them, smiling, as she stood back to usher them inside. “He’s such a joy.”

Liddy’s living room was attached to the dining room, but the space wasn’t being used for its original purpose. Instead, it was blocked off with sturdy baby gates and the infants of crawling age were allowed free range. Michael had pulled himself up and was standing unsteadily, the ten month-old grinning from ear to ear as he saw his fathers.

“Da-da-da-da-da-da-da,” he called happily as he waved his arms at them.

“There’s my boy,” Dean nodded at Liddy, but made haste to Michael, lifting the boy into his arms and blowing a wet raspberry on his neck. Michael’s happy giggles bordered on shrieks.

Sam watched fondly. “Anything we should know about?”

Liddy handed him the half sheet of paper that she provided every parent when they picked their child up. On it was detailed the information about what the child had eaten, specifics about diaper changes, and anything else she thought they should know.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” she assured him. When Sam’s face fell, she put a comforting hand on his arm. “Sam, Michael’s not even a year old yet. Developmentally, he’s well within normal parameters.”

“I know, I know,” Sam had the good grace to look sheepish. “It’s just that I’m looking forward to him being able to talk. I want to know what goes on in that infant mind of his.”

“I’ll tell you what’s going on,” Dean spoke up. “Mikey’s thinking about having a full tummy, getting hugs from his daddies, and filling his diaper. Sam, he’s a baby. It’s gonna be a while before he’s ready to talk philosophy.”

“Da-da-da-da-da-da-da,” Michael cried out imperiously, holding his arms out to Sam.

Sam smiled and took the baby from his brother, kissing Michael before settling him on his hip. They’d agreed that Michael’s ‘da-da’ sounds shouldn’t be counted as his first word, since he used it for pretty much everything. The baby certainly couldn’t say Daddy Dean or Daddy Sam yet, although Lord knew that Dean was campaigning pretty hard to make sure he got ‘Daddy Dean’ out first. 

He didn’t know why it was so important for him for Michael to begin to talk. Sam knew that he wasn’t one of those pushy fathers who expected his kid to be the pinnacle of everything. Walking was an equally big milestone and Sam would just as soon that hold off for a while. Michael was hard enough to keep up with when he was crawling.

“Just because you starting talking at a freakishly young age, doesn’t mean Mikey will,” Dean continued. 

“Really?” Liddy asked, the child care professional in her interested. “Just how young was he?”

“Don’t believe a word he says,” Sam answered before Dean could. “I did not start talking at four months and I did not spew fluent Latin either.” He gave Dean a quelling look. “I asked Dad.”

Dean shrugged. “Well, you were pretty young.”

“A child with an older sibling will often develop verbal skills at an earlier age,” Liddy explained. “They pick it up from their brother or sister, in addition to their parents.”

“Huh.” Dean looked contemplative and then grinned. “So you talking early was a function of me being smart, Sammy, not just you.” He poked at his younger sibling. “What do you think of that?”

“I never doubted it for a minute,” Sam assured him. He looked at the clock mounted on Liddy’s living room wall. “I also think that if we don’t get on the road soon, we’re going to be late.”

Dana had given birth to her daughter, Gretchen, about three months ago and the girl was being christened that weekend. To Sam’s delight and Dean’s consternation, they’d been asked to be god parents. The ceremony wasn’t until Sunday, but they wanted to drive up Friday night and make a weekend trip of it. John was going to meet them there.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dean turned to Liddy. “I guess we’ll see you Monday.”

“Wait just a minute,” she grabbed a basket that was sitting near the door and handed it to Dean. “I put together some treats for the trip.”

“Liddy, that wasn’t necessary,” Sam was embarrassed by her generosity. “It’s not even two hours away.”

“Speak for yourself, Sammy,” Dean was peeking inside with his usual fascination for free food. “I’m a growing boy and so’s Mikey.”

Sam and Liddy exchanged glances while Dean was distracted and Sam nodded his thanks. The fight with the demon four months earlier had left Dean with a cut across his abdomen. While it alone wouldn’t normally have been life threatening, Dean had been slow to recover from Michaels’ birth and it had been a setback. Dean’s family, and Liddy had rapidly earned that status, continued to fuss over him. As much as he would let them, anyway.

“I included some of those lemon bars that your father likes so much,” Liddy mentioned and then blushed furiously. “I was baking some for the children and made too many and I thought they shouldn’t go to waste.”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that,” Dean said blandly. For months he’d been trying to convince Sam that Liddy was sweet on their dad. Sam hadn’t believed him, but Liddy’s blush was a sign that maybe he’d been wrong.

With her admonishments to drive safely and have a good time still ringing in their ears, the Winchesters left the house and made their way towards the Impala. It was sitting in the driveway and, as soon as he saw it, Michael began to bounce enthusiastically in Sam’s arms.

“Hey, I think he’s glad to see the car,” Sam told Dean, looking at their son in amusement.

“Of course he is,” Dean was smug as he opened the back door and stowed the basket full of treats within easy reach. “He’s a Winchester; he knows how to appreciate one of Detroit’s finest.”

“Pala,” Michael announced. 

Sam looked down at the baby and then over at Dean. Dean had heard and was standing with a blank look on his face.

“Do you think he just said Impala?” Sam asked. 

Michael decided the issue before Dean could articulate a response.

“Mmm-pala,” the baby repeated, looking quite pleased with himself. “Pala, ‘pala, mmmmm-pala.”

“Listen to that Sammy!” Dean crowed. He swooped over and took Michael from Sam’s arms, lifting him high in the air. Michael shrieked in delight. “That’s my boy!”

It figured. Sam had been anxiously awaiting Michael’s first word and it turned out to be the name of the car. If nothing else, it cemented his son’s status as a Winchester. 

“Sam, Mikey said Impala,” Dean was looking at him expectantly. “What do you think of that?”

Sam looked from his ecstatic brother to his chortling son.

“I think,” he responded with a grin. “That it’s damn near perfect.”

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted May 30, 2007


	69. Toiletries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is pregnant with Danny.

Dean was buttoning his shirt when he heard a soft thump in the bathroom. Normally it was the kind of sound he would ignore, but Sam was in the bathroom and Sam was eight months pregnant.

“Sammy, you okay?” Dean asked in concern, leaving his shirt unbuttoned as he carefully opened the bathroom door.

Sam was sheepishly holding himself up against the wall. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just lost my balance for a minute.”

Unlike Dean’s pregnancy with Michael, Sam wasn’t getting huge. He did have, however, a bit of a tummy bulge and it was screwing with his equilibrium. Dean frowned as he moved forward to steady his brother. Sam opened his mouth to protest, but snapped it shut. He’d been very good about his promise to Dean to let him fuss as much as he wanted.

After Sam was steady, Dean transferred his glare to the toilet. He’d never noticed it before, but now that he was looking at it, he could tell that it was a little on the short side. Of course, to a man of his brother’s height, everything was short, but clearly the toilet was giving Sammy a problem.

“It’s fine, Dean,” Sam reassured him, guessing where Dean’s thoughts had gone. “Besides, I’ve only got a few weeks to go.”

“How do you manage in the public johns?” Dean asked, embarrassed that he hadn’t thought about it before. Sure, he teased his brother about being Samzilla, but hadn’t thought about all of the ramifications, particularly considering Sam’s current delicate condition.

“I just use the handicap stalls,” Sam replied, all too cheerful about the whole thing. “Those handrails come in handy.” 

With a swift kiss to Dean’s nose, Sam obviously considered the matter closed. Dean, though, thought about it as they had breakfast and got Michael ready for daycare. He was still thinking about it after Sam left and the telephone rang.

“Hey, Dean, I’m sorry, but we had some genius run over a water main with a back hoe,” Hank, the contractor that Dean worked for, said. “We got a little flood action happening. There’s no way there’s anything electrical going on here today.”

“That’s okay,” Dean commented. “Actually, that’s perfect. Something came up here at home, but I didn’t want to leave you high and dry.”

“No worry about that,” Hank snorted. “There’s nothing dry here today. Look, I’ll call you when we’re up and running again. Might be a day or two.”

“Gimme a call when you’re ready,” Dean assured him. 

After hanging up the phone, Dean rubbed his hands together briskly. He may not have a paying job to do, but he had plenty to keep him busy. 

By the time Sam got home from school, Michael was sitting at the kitchen table coloring while Dean was stirring the spaghetti sauce. They exchanged knowing glances while Sam stole a taste of the sauce, Michael covering his mouth to stifle a giggle.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Dean asked after pressing a chaste kiss on Sam’s lips.

“Good,” Sam returned the kiss and walked over to ruffle Michael’s hair.

“I wanna say hi to brother,” Michael stood, but Sam fended him off.

“Hang on just a minute, buddy,” he pleaded. “Right now your little brother’s dancing on my bladder.” Michael’s greetings could take a while and Sam apparently couldn’t wait.

“Sammy, use the one in our bedroom,” Dean told his brother.

“Hallway one’s closer,” Sam disagreed, already heading out of the kitchen.

“Use. The. Bedroom. One.” Dean emphasized.

Sam shot him a dirty look over his shoulder. “Fine. Make the pregnant man walk extra when he really, really has to go.”

“Well, if you’d kept waddling instead of whining about it, you’d already be there,” Dean pointed out.

His comment got him another glare, but he wasn’t phased by it. Michael did giggle once Sam was out of the room and Dean waggled his eyebrows at him conspiratorially. “Come on, champ. Put your coloring stuff away and help me set the table.”

When Sam came back, his eyes were shining. “And you call me the sentimental one.”

Michael couldn’t contain himself any more. “DeeDee got you a new potty!”

“Yes,” Sam agreed. “He certainly did.”

It wasn’t just any toilet, either, but one of those new models that were tall and had an elongated bowl. No more awkwardness for Sam.

“Where did that come from?” Sam asked.

Dean grinned. “Well, when a mommy potty and a daddy potty love each other very much, umph-. . . .”

His comment was broken off when Sam grabbed him by the shirt and jerked him close for a kiss. And then another kiss, with tongue.

“That’s called kissing,” Michael’s piping voice brought them back to earth. “You have to get used to it, ‘cause they do it a lot.”

Apparently tired of another delay in greeting his unborn brother, Michael had dragged his stool over and was addressing the part of Sam’s stomach that wasn’t pressed close to Dean. Guilty at having interrupted the child’s ritual, the two brothers pulled apart.

“Jason calls it ‘sucking face,’” Michael continued. “Miss Liddy says that’s not a very nice way to say it, though.” His face scrunched up as he addressed his fathers. “That’s not a swear word, is it?”

“No,” Sam looked like he was struggling not to laugh. “Miss Liddy’s right, it’s not very nice, but it’s not — quite — naughty enough for the swear jar.”

Michael heaved a sigh of relief. He’d had to put a whole dollar in there once for repeating something he’d heard at daycare and he’d resented every penny of it.

“An’ don’t worry,” he continued to address his unborn brother. “They usually give better presents than a potty.”

“Nope,” Dean tickled Michael’s neck, keeping one hand on the boy’s back to make sure he didn’t fall from the stool. “The only presents people get around here are socks and underwear.”

“And a potty,” Sam added, grinning.

“And a potty.” Dean agreed. He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I called Shelly, she said we could take the price of it off our rent.” Shelly was their landlady and pretty much let them do whatever they wanted to the house they were renting from her. If it was an improvement, she was even good about helping to foot the bill. “As long as I took care of the installation. She said that, if we ever move, she might even sell the place instead of renting. The stuff we’ve done around here has upped the value and she might even cut us in on some of the profit. It was worth a little sweat equity.”

“And that’s why you did it,” Sam stated drolly. “So that our landlord can make a profit on the place when we move, if she decides to share with us.”

“Well, yeah,” Dean ducked his head, making a show of helping Michael down from his stool. 

When he looked back up, Sam was gazing at him tenderly. He hadn’t fooled his brother for a minute, Sam knew exactly why Dean had replaced the damn toilet.

And that was just fine by Dean.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted June 10, 2007


	70. State Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is two.

The first time that Sam told Dean about the Virginia State Fair, he thought his brother had ignored him. Dean had grunted something and then gone back to working on the Impala. Sam had decided to address the subject again later, when Dean wasn’t under his baby’s hood and too easily distracted from things he didn’t really want to hear about.

The second time that Sam broached the subject, though, Dean surprised him.

“Of course we’re goin’,” Dean interrupted Sam’s carefully worded case for attending the fair. “Mikey’s two already; it’s high time he had some fun.”

Sam looked at Dean as though he’d sprouted a second head. His reaction caused his brother to look hurt.

“C’mon, Sammy,” Dean shrugged. “Maybe I don’t jones for the normal life as much as you do, but I want Mikey to have all the stuff we didn’t have growin’ up.”

“Of course you do,” Sam assured him. He should have known that his brother would do things for Michael that he wouldn’t dream of for himself. In any case, Dean’s acquiescence would make his plan much easier.

And so it was that a sunny Saturday found them arriving at the fair. John joined them, although he insisted on driving separately. They left the stroller at home, figuring that between the three of them, they could heft Michael when he got tired of walking. None of them wanted to fool with a stroller in the crowd they’d likely be finding themselves in.

“Well, what do you want to do first?” John asked after they’d passed through the turnstiles. 

Sam had researched the fair’s offerings, both on its website and from the write-ups in the papers. He had a pretty good idea of what would appeal to Michael most. Although, from the look of wonder on the toddler’s face, just being there was enough for him.

“The animal barns,” Sam said firmly. Michael loved animals.

“Not so fast, Old McDonald,” Dean grabbed Sam’s shirt before he could head off in the right direction. “I see a corn dog stand.”

“Dean, it’s nine in the morning,” Sam exclaimed. “That’s disgusting.”

“Yeah, well, when in Rome and all that,” Dean countered, already digging out his money. “Food on a stick is the big specialty.”

There wasn’t much of a line at that hour of the morning and within a few minutes, Dean was happily munching on a corn dog that was slathered with both ketchup and mustard. He offered Michael a bite and, much to Sam’s disgust, Michael clearly enjoyed it.

“Like father, like son,” John’s voice was an amused rumble.

Sam rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue. He couldn’t, really, with Michael’s mouth smeared with yellow and red, a happy smile on his face.

The animal barns were a big hit and the family ended up spending the whole morning there. The horses were first and all four Winchesters were fascinated with the animals.

“I always thought riding would be fun,” Sam commented as they watched as some horses were exercised in a paddock. 

Dean snorted. “Yeah, like they’ve built a horse big enough to carry you on its back, Samzilla.” His eyes got big as he saw a male horse, a very male horse, urinating. “Man, now I know where the phrase ‘hung like a horse’ comes from.” He nudged Sam in the ribs. “He’s got nothing on you, though. You stallion, you.”

Sam grinned. “You’re a lucky man and don’t you forget it.” 

John cleared his throat. “Old ears and young, boys. There is such a thing as too much information.” 

Laughing, his sons changed the subject.

Michael was too young to go on a pony ride, even accompanied by a parent. He didn’t seem to mind. There was also an area where children could feed the most gentle horses. Michael’s eyes got wide as saucers as the horse deftly took the pieces of apple from his small hand.

“DaSa, DeeDee!” He cried out as they led him away. “I fed the horsey!”

“We saw,” Sam told the boy. 

“Good job, Mikey,” Dean praised his son. In an undertone to his brother, he muttered, “I was afraid it was gonna take his thumb off.”

“You were just jealous,” Sam teased. “Finally, we came across something with bigger lips than you.”

“I’ll remember that, the next time. . . .” Dean glanced at his father and clearly modified his words. “The next time you want me to use those lips.” Sam just laughed, figuring he’d gotten Dean back for the ‘hung like a horse’ comment.

There was a show ring next to the horse barn and they watched a jumping competition for nearly an hour. Michael was mesmerized by the animals, too excited to even stay in his seat. He stood in the spot in front of it and bounced, pointing. His chatter was too excited to be intelligible, except for an occasional ‘horsey.’

There would have been more fussing on Michael’s part when it was it was time leave, but Dean spotted another food stand on their way out.

“Ooooh. . . funnel cakes,” Dean exclaimed, smacking his lips. 

Even a two year-old would find it hard to pout in the presence of fried dough and powdered sugar. Helping Dean eat his treat was distraction enough to keep Michael from protesting the change in venue too much.

“You’re going to eat your way through the fair, aren’t you?” Sam asked in an accusing tone.

“What?” Dean asked, an expression of feigned innocence on his face. 

There was a tempting dusting of powdered sugar at the corner of Dean’s mouth. Sam didn’t dare do what he wanted to do, namely to lick it off. Instead, he reached over and wiped the sugar away with his finger and then stuck the digit it in his mouth.

“Good stuff, huh?” Dean gloated. “Huh?”

“Fine,” Sam conceded. He reached over and snagged a bite of funnel cake. “Just don’t let Michael eat too much of the stuff, he’ll get a tummy ache.”

Dean pouted. “And you don’t care if I get a tummy ache?”

Sam snorted. “You’re a big boy, you can take care of yourself.”

The other barns weren’t as much fun as the horse one, although Michael enjoyed all the animals. He particularly liked imitating the various creatures and making noises. Sam, Dean and even John had fun quizzing him.

“And how does the piggy go?” Sam asked.

“Oink, oink,” Michael chirped. “Piggies go oink, oink.”

“Mmmm. . . bacon,” Dean murmured. “That’s good eatin’.”

“No eat piggie,” Michael protested, shaking a finger at his father. “Silly, DeeDee.”

Dean smiled gently, not pointing out to Michael that his corn dog likely’d had piggie in it, or at least piggie parts. “Right. Not eating any pigs today.”

Just like that, Michael was satisfied. “Good, DeeDee.”

The brothers exchanged looks. Someday their tenderhearted son would have to learn about the food chain, but not today. 

“I don’t envy you that conversation,” John stated quietly. Michael was watching a sow feed her piglets and wasn’t paying the adults any attention. “The ‘where food comes from’ discussion was far more traumatic than ‘where babies come from.’ Crying, throwing down on the floor kicking and screaming, refusing to eat anything but mac and cheese for a month.”

Sam frowned. “Really? I don’t remember being that traumatized about it.”

John snorted. “I wasn’t talking about you, I was talking about Dean.”

“What?” Dean protested. “I did no such girly thing.”

“You sure did,” John corrected him. “Your mother, she didn’t like the idea of lying to you. About anything. She even felt guilty letting you believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. So when you asked what kind of tree hamburgers grew on, she told you the truth.”

Before Michael was born, it had been rare for Dean to talk about their mother, but his pregnancy had changed that. It was though the floodgates had opened and Sam had learned more about his brother’s early childhood and their mother than he ever had before. Not so John. Even the birth of his grandson hadn’t been enough for him to open up much about his pre-demon life.

Until now.

“Your mother, she was beside herself,” John shook his head as if he were lost in fond memories. “But I tell you one thing, not only did she not tell you the truth about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, but she added the Tooth Fairy to her repertoire.” 

From the way Dean blushed, Sam had a feeling that his brother remembered more about the incident than he was willing to admit.

Sam decided that they wouldn’t follow in their mother’s footsteps and use the same tactic with Michael. “What about me? I don’t even remember, so it must not have bothered me too much.”

John shrugged. “Don’t ask me, Dean took care of it.”

Dean also shrugged when Sam turned to him, one eyebrow raised. “I just told you that we only ate the animals that asked us to eat them. You believed it.” He grinned. “You were gullible even back then.”

In retrospect, Sam should have known. Dean had practically raised him, which gave his brother an added confidence in dealing with their son that Sam envied. Sighing, he contemplated Michael.

“Don’t worry,” Dean nudged him. “We’ll figure Mikey out. We always do.”

By lunchtime, they were finally finished with the animal barns and, miracle of miracles, Dean hadn’t managed to ruin either his appetite or Michael’s. Sam insisted on food that wasn’t on a stick, though, so they ended up in a food tent run by a local VFW. They were served a plate lunch of fried chicken and mashed potatoes. 

They tied a large, plastic bib around Michael’s neck, gave him a chicken leg, and let munch on it like a little savage. No one had the heart to tell him that he was eating one of the chickies that he’d been clucking at earlier.

After lunch, they came out of the food tent and almost literally walked into a parade. Sam got a little teary-eyed watching his father teach Michael to salute when the soldiers came by with a flag. He wasn’t too choked up to get a few shots of it with the camera, though. Right after the soldiers came a marching band and Michael had fun imitating them, marching in place to the inspirational music.

“I see he got your dork gene,” Dean said in an undertone, but his smile spoke volumes.

“You always liked marching bands,” Sam teased. “I think he got your dork gene.”

“I liked majorettes,” Dean clarified. “Oooh. . . the things those girls could do with a baton. . . . “

Sam was about to make a pithy comment when he noticed what was coming up in the parade behind the marching band. 

Clowns.

“Here,” he handed Dean the camera. “I’m gonna go get ice cream. Over there. Way over there.”

He took off before Dean could say anything. The last thing Sam wanted was for Michael to pick up on his irrational fear of clowns. He didn’t want his son afraid of anything, but especially something that most children adored.

Sam hadn’t gotten very far, though, when he heard a piping child’s voice calling for him.

“DaSa!”

He turned to find Michael running after him, chubby little toddler’s legs working hard to catch up to Sam’s long stride. Dean was right behind him and John lagged only a few steps.

“Michael,” Sam bent and scooped up his little boy as the child reached him. “What’s the matter? I thought you wanted to watch the parade.”

“DaSa, bad men won’t hurt you,” Michael patted his younger father’s face, expression serious. 

Startled, Sam looked at Dean, but his brother just shrugged. “I swear, I didn’t tell him, Sam.”

“Me and DeeDee protect you,” Michael assured him with an emphatic nod. He turned to shake his little finger at the parade. “Bad, cwowns. Bad.”

Instead of being embarrassed at being comforted by a two year-old, Sam felt his heart swell with pride. “I know, buddy, I know.”

“Feel better?” Michael’s green eyes were dark with worry.

“Much,” Sam kissed the top of his son’s head. “Bunches and bunches better.”

They weren’t far from Machinery Hill and, after Dean had gotten another corn dog and some mini donuts from nearby stands, made it their next stop. John and Dean weren’t farmers and hadn’t come anywhere near tilling the earth. That didn’t stop them from hmmming and hawing over all the farm equipment, comparing one versus the other. Their lack of agricultural experience didn’t matter; there wasn’t a motorized vehicle that the two of them weren’t utterly fascinated with. 

Sam and Michael lasted about twenty minutes.

When Michael started squirming, Sam nudged Dean and indicated that he was taking the little boy outside. Dean grunted and went back to poking around a tractor. Outside the building, Sam found an open patch of grass and took out the bottle of bubble solution he’d packed in the duffle that served them for a diaper bag. A few minutes of happily chasing bubbles and Michael was ready to settle down. There was a shaded bench nearby and, nearly napping himself, Sam waited contentedly, his little boy nestled in his arms.

“Sorry.”

Coming fully awake, Sam opened his eyes. A sheepish Dean was standing in front of him, along with their father.

“Didn’t mean to take so long,” Dean apologized.

Lazy from the fresh air and the catnap, Sam just grinned and shrugged. “That’s okay. Michael needed a little downtime anyway.”

“Here, I can take him,” Dean reached for their son and Sam relinquished him to his brother’s care. The shift in position woke the little boy. Yawning hugely, he rubbed his eyes. “Hey, Mikey, you havin’ a good time today?”

“Uh-huh, DeeDee,” the little boy nodded emphatically. Way off in the distance, happy shrieks could be heard. “What’s that?”

“I dunno,” Dean answered, forehead wrinkled. “Let’s go find out.”

It was a good thing that Michael had had a nap, even a short one, because the source of the shrieks turned out to be the Midway area. The closer they got to the wildly colored amusement rides, the wider Michael’s eyes got.

“I don’t believe that people actually pay money to ride these deathtraps,” Dean muttered under his breath. “Who actually wants to go upside down?”

“I dunno, they can be kind of fun,” Sam stuck his hands in his pockets. He’d been to a couple of carnivals with Jessica. 

“You’ve been on stuff like this?” Dean asked incredulously. He looked a little green around the mouth. “Sammy, I didn’t know you had a death wish.”

“Ride, DeeDee?” Michael asked, pointing at something that was twirling far too fast for Dean’s taste. “Ride?”

“No, Mikey, you’re too little,” Dean told the boy. He didn’t look as sorry as he sounded. In fact, he looked downright relieved. 

“They’ve got little kid rides,” John pointed out, gesturing to an area slightly to the side. “Those should be about his speed.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Dean retorted, tone colored with sarcasm. “Thanks a lot.”

Michael was too excited to be carried, so Dean put him down. The little boy took each father by the hand and pulled them towards the kiddie area. Once there, he saw a ride with little cars and ran over. Seeing that Dean followed, Sam took a detour to the ticket booth.

“Ride, DaSa?” Michael begged when Sam approached. “Can I ride?”

John had wandered away, but walked back briskly when he saw Sam. “I saw the inspection certificates. Besides, it looks pretty tame.” Each little race car was attached to a steel rod that guided it around a track. It was perfect for toddlers, but not exactly a thrill ride. “I think it’ll be safe enough.”

Sam tore off two tickets. “Okay, here you go, Dean. It takes two tickets; they’ll let you ride for free, since Michael’s so little.”

Dean blinked at him blankly. “What?”

“Michael can’t ride by himself,” Sam explained slowly. “You’ll have to ride with him.”

“Oh, no,” Dean actually backed away a couple of steps. “I’m not getting on that thing. You go with him.”

“Yeah, right.” Sam snorted. “Like I’d fit.”

He saw Dean look at the ride. The cars were small. Very small. There was no way that someone of Sam’s height would fit. He’d be so twisted in trying to cram into the seat that he’d probably end up biting his knees. As he watched, Sam saw comprehension flood Dean’s face.

“Dad?” Dean turned towards their father.

“Don’t look at me, son,” John held up his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “You’re the shortest one in the family. It’s got to be you.”

“I am not short,” Dean muttered. “I can’t help it if you two are freakishly tall.”

“Ride, DeeDee,” Michael pleaded, tugging at Dean’s hand.

Sam pinpointed the moment that Dean melted. His brother heaved a big sigh. “Yeah, Mikey, we’re gonna ride.”

“Yeah!!” The little boy jumped up and down in excitement.

“Whoa, hold on there a sec, tiger,” Dean kept their son from running towards the line. “Gotta take care of something first.” He held out his hand to Sam. “Camera.”

“What?” Sam knew what Dean was after, but feigned confusion. It didn’t work.

“I will ride on this thing with our son, but I will not leave you armed and capable of taking blackmail pictures,” Dean stated. He snapped his fingers. “Camera, Sammy.”

Sighing, Sam handed it over. In the long run, it didn’t matter. No matter how long he lived, Sam knew he wouldn’t forget the excitement on his little boy’s face.

He and John found a place to stand along the fence that surrounded the ride. They watched as Dean kept Michael entertained while they waited their turn, no doubt telling one of the stories that the toddler enjoyed so much. Eventually, they had their turn and Sam and his father watched as Dean let Michael choose the car. Dean was meticulous about making sure that Michael was belted in. Once they were safe and just waiting for the attendant to check everyone, Sam realized that his father was digging in his pocket.

“Michael!” John called out in a loud voice. “Dean!”

Both Michael and Dean looked over and Sam heard the distinctive snap as John took a picture. Sam hadn’t even realized that his father had brought a camera. Apparently neither had Dean and, from his scowl, he wasn’t too happy about it. Safely over Michael’s head, Dean mouthed a very bad word.

Sam chuckled. “Sneaky.”

“Where do you think Dean learned it?” John grinned. It still wasn’t an expression Sam was used to seeing on his normally grim father’s face, but he decided he could get used to it.

The ride started, preventing further conversation. Michael squealed in delight, childish joy radiating from his face. Dean was grinning hugely as their little car went around the first corner. Sam got a lump in his throat as he realized that maybe this wasn’t just Michael’s first amusement park ride, but Dean’s too.

“I should have done this kind of thing more often with you and your brother,” John said as they watched the ride wind down. He’d taken several more pictures during the duration of the ride.

Sam thought about it a minute. “Yeah, you should have.” He felt, rather than saw, his father flinch. “But that’s in the past and can’t be changed.” He turned and looked at his dad. “It matters more to me that you’re a terrific grandfather to Michael.”

John’s eyes were bright. “Thank you, Sam. For giving me a second chance.”

“I didn’t do it just for you,” he gestured to where Dean was helping Michael out of the ride car. “I did it for them.”

“Well, I’ll try not to mess it up,” John’s smile was bittersweet.

“You won’t,” Sam assured him. “And, Dad? I need a favor.”

“Anything,” John vowed. 

Sam grinned. “Don’t leave Dean alone with that camera, not for a second. Not until I can download the memory card.”

John’s grin was sly. “Can do, Samuel. Can do.”

Michael wanted to ride again and Dean was surprisingly willing to do so, cementing Sam’s thought that his brother hadn’t been on any amusement rides before. After that, there was a miniature rollercoaster, which had to be ridden three times, and a merry-go-round. Dean made Sam go on the latter, since there was no car that he had to stuff himself into. Sam didn’t mind; he’d actually regretted his height that had kept him off the other kiddie rides.

After Michael had ridden all that his fathers were willing to allow him to, and Dean had plowed through an ear of corn and a bucket of chocolate chip cookies, it was time for dinner. Sam bowed to the inevitable and got food on a stick for everyone.

“Don’t look so long in the face, Sammy,” Dean poked him as he downed his third corndog. “When in Rome, remember? A fair’s all about food with no redeeming nutritional value whatsoever.”

“Well, you’re living proof of that,” Sam growled. “That’s for sure.”

“Ah, but look,” Dean pointed behind Sam. “The ultimate food on a stick. Cotton Candy.”

Sam felt his air of superiority dissolve in the saliva that flooded his mouth. “Did you say cotton candy?”

“Sure did, tiger.” Dean laughed. “Come on, let’s get you some.”

The got three cones between the four of them. 

“What’s that, DaSa?” Michael asked.

“This, Michael, is manna from the gods,” Sam ripped off a fluffy strip of the candy and stuffed it into his mouth. “Mmmmm. . . .”

“He means that it tastes good, Mikey,” Dean said indulgently. He offered Michael a bite. All three Winchester men watched when the toddler’s eyes got wide as the candy melted.

“DeeDee, where did it go?” Michael sounded awed.

“It’s magic,” Dean whispered hoarsely.

“It’s not magic,” Sam disagreed. “It’s sugar. It dissolves in the presences of moisture and heat, which are the conditions inside your mouth.”

Michael’s little forehead wrinkled in confusion. John laughed and ruffled his grandson’s hair. “Your DeeDee’s right, it’s magic.”

They’d all been dragging a little after the amusement rides, but the meal energized them a bit. Enough that when they walked past a petting zoo and Michael begged to go in, his fathers were more than willing to let him.

“Let’s let Grandpa handle this one,” Dean suggested, holding Sam back as he went to follow their son inside.

Looking at the awkward pride in their father’s face as he held his grandson’s hand, Sam nodded. “Go ahead, Grandpa. Have fun.”

Along with Dean, Sam found a spot along the fence that ringed the petting zoo and watched as his grizzled father escorted his grandson around the area. At one point, John knelt and held a baby bunny for Michael to pet. His hands, which had destroyed more supernatural phenomenon than Sam could count, sheltered the small creature with tenderness as he encouraged the child to gently touch it. Sam was deeply affected by the sight and, from the way Dean kept clearing his throat, so was his brother. 

“Must have gotten something in my eye,” Dean claimed as he wiped at his face.

“Yeah, me too,” Sam replied, even as he snapped photo after photo.

It was hard to tell who was grinning more broadly when they came out, Michael or John.

“Did you see, I patted the bunny,” Michael jabbered at his fathers. “Just like the book.”

“Just like it,” Dean agreed, swooping down and lifting the child high in his arms. “You did good, Mikey. Real good.”

For a while the family was content to move with the crowd, letting the ebb and flow of it take them where it would. After some time, though, Sam saw his brother’s eyes widen.

“Sammy, look,” Dean grabbed Sam by the arm and pointed, in his excitement, sounding a lot like their two year-old.

Sam looked. It was a shooting gallery.

“Um, Dad, would you mind watching Michael for a few minutes?” Sam asked, trying not to look too eager.

John sighed. “Of course not. Come here, big guy.”

As soon as the child had been transferred to John’s arms, the brothers were on their way. The gallery wasn’t as big as some they frequented, but it was nicely appointed, with guns that were in halfway decent shape. Each Winchester found one to their liking and nodded at each other.

“Usual bet?” Dean asked.

“Yup,” Sam replied. “Loser does dishes for a week.”

“You realize that we have a dishwasher now, right?” Dean reminded him. Sam just grinned fiercely. It wasn’t about the wager as much as it was about the bragging rights and Dean damn well knew it. “Okay, best three out of five.”

By the time they were finished, the carnie running the gallery was almost in tears. He only had so many prizes to give away and, between the two of them, they’d practically stripped him bare.

“C’mon, fellas,” he begged them. “Give a guy a break. I’m just tryin’ to make an honest livin’ here.”

One of Dean’s eyebrows went up. “Honest? When you’ve got the guns off balance on purpose?”

“Take a jumbo prize and call it a night,” the man offered. He thrust a large stuffed dragon into Dean’s arms. “Please.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw a little girl crying as she pleaded with her father to win her a toy. The poor man had spent more money than both Winchesters combined and hadn’t even come close.

“We’ll take two,” Sam countered. He grabbed a large stuffed unicorn and glared at the carnie, daring him to protest. Since the Winchesters had actually won far more than that, he just threw up his hands in defeat.

“Shall we call it a draw?” Sam asked Dean as they walked away. As they passed the little girl, he handed her the unicorn, just smiling at the father as the man stammered his thanks.

“Okay,” Dean grudgingly admitted. “Man, you must be practicing when I’m not around, Sammy.”

“Or maybe you’re just getting worse. Getting old sucks,” Sam teased.

“Yeah, well, we’ll see who you’re calling old the next time we. . . .” Dean was prevented from finishing since they’d reached their dad and Michael. The little boy was out like a light, sound asleep as he was draped over his grandfather’s shoulder.

“You didn’t make a carnie cry again, did you?” John asked wryly, nodding at the stuffed animal.

“Almost,” Dean replied cheerfully. He nodded at their little boy. “Maybe we better call it a day, huh?”

Sam and John exchanged a glance. 

“You haven’t told him yet?” John asked.

Dean looked confused. “Told me what?”

Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “Um, Dean, did you look at who’s playing the grandstand tonight?”

They actually weren’t too far from there. Dean leaned forward until he could see the sign, his eyes going wide as he read who would be in concert.

“Def Leppard?” His tone was reverent. “Wow. Hey, Sam, you think we could stick around for a while? I bet we can hear just fine from out here.”

“We won’t need to,” Sam fished something out of his pocket and held it out for Dean. He’d been planning a long time for this moment. “I got us tickets. Third row.”

Dean took the tickets and stared at them before looking up at his brother. “You sneaky little bitch.”

Knowing it for a compliment, Sam grinned. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“And I think that’s my clue to take a hike,” John looked embarrassed, no doubt hoping to be long gone before his boys did any public displays of affection. “I’ll take Michael home and put him to bed.” He took the stuffed dragon from Dean. “This monstrosity too. I’ll see you boys in the morning.”

“Morning?” Dean asked, looking at Sam.

“I got us a hotel room for the night,” Sam looked sheepish. “I figured the concert would get out late and we wouldn’t want to come in and wake Dad and Michael up.”

“And that’s all I need to know,” John added.

Taking pity on their father, Dean and Sam took turns at kissing their son goodnight. Michael was asleep and wouldn’t know it if they missed doing it, but they would. After rubbing Michael’s back, they bid their dad goodbye and watched as he headed towards the parking lot.

“This whole day was to get me here for the concert, wasn’t it?” Dean asked Sam when their dad was out of sight.

“Not entirely,” Sam was defensive. “I’d been thinking it would be fun to bring Michael out anyway, the concert was just the icing on the cake.”

“A concert and a hotel room?” Dean poked his brother and turned to head towards the grandstand. “Sammy, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get lucky.”

Sam gulped as he realized Dean was putting a little extra swagger in his walk. “Um. . . did it work?”

Dean’s smile was full of promise. “Damn right it did. Now come on, we’ve got a concert to go to.”

Groaning, Sam followed. It wasn’t that he disliked Def Leppard as much as it would be difficult to sit through the concert, knowing the carnal pleasure that waited afterwards. 

This day, Sam reflected as he followed Dean, had turned out even better than he’d ever hoped. They’d spent the whole day together as a family, with no paranormal interruptions and without any shadows to mar the experience. Michael was young enough that he might not remember his first trip to the fair, but Sam knew it was something he would never forget.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 6/17/2007


	71. First Date

Sam wasn’t surprised when Dean’s protective nature came out with a vengeance. A first date was, after all, a momentous event and Dean was more nervous about it than the participants. 

“It’s too bad you didn’t have the Impala detailed,” Sam commented. “The old girl should look her best for tonight.”

Dean looked at his younger brother like he’d grown another head. “Sammy, are you crazy? Danny was conceived in that car. Hell, I was conceived in that car. We don’t want to be giving them any ideas. If his own two feet aren’t good enough, he can take your truck.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Don’t be such a prude.” He grinned, amused by Dean’s near-panic at the situation. “He’ll be fine.”

“Is there a problem here, boys?” John’s voice was an easy-going grumble. 

Sam grinned at his brother’s blush.

“We’re just fine, Dad,” Dean was quick to answer.

“I was just saying that I wished he would have gotten the Impala detailed for tonight,” Sam supplied helpfully, ducking his brother’s attempt to kick him. 

“Liddy knows what the car looks like,” John retorted gruffly. “It’s a nice thought, Sam, but not necessary.”

“Umm. . . you ready to go?” Dean asked.

Sam had one thing to say for his dad, he cleaned up nice. John had trimmed his beard and was wearing casual dress pants. Sam had to really think of a time that he hadn’t seen his father in jeans or corduroys. John Winchester also had on a woven, button-down shirt that had to be new; there wasn’t a blood stain on it.

“Looking good, Dad,” Sam complimented him. “I bet Liddy will take one look at you and swoon.”

John Winchester, fearless hunter and scourge of the supernatural realm, blushed like a teenager.

“I don’t know about swooning,” he said awkwardly. “But I don’t want to embarrass her.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Well, you won’t.” He dug into his pocket, doubt about loaning his dad the car apparently gone. “Here are the keys.”

Their father accepted them, looking sheepish. “Thanks for letting me borrow the car. The transmission on my truck had to go out, this weekend of all times.”

“Just make sure you’re home by midnight,” Sam drawled. He was thoroughly enjoying the discomfiture of both of the older Winchester men. “And not a minute after.”

John, at least, appreciated the humor. “Yes, sir.”

“Um. . . you have your cellphone?” Dean asked, shifting from foot to foot. “You know, in case you need to call us or something.”

To Sam’s surprise, his dad responded calmly to the nagging. “Yup,” he patted his pocket. “It’s right here.” He turned to go, stopping just short of the door to look at his sons solemnly. “You know, Liddy is a lovely woman; I like her a lot, but she’ll never take the place in my heart that belongs to your mother.”

Suddenly, Sam didn’t find the situation funny anymore.

“No,” he said quietly, talking from his experience of mourning Jessica. “But you’ve got a big heart; I bet there’s another place for Liddy in there. You just have to give it a chance.”

John smiled at him and, after nodding at Dean, walked out of the door.

Dean let out a big sigh when it shut behind his father. “Well, he’s not our little boy any more,” he tried to joke.

Sam couldn’t help but notice how shaky his brother’s smile was. This had to be hard for Dean. No matter how much they loved Liddy, and they both did, she still wasn’t their mom. Sam didn’t have any memories to contend with, but Dean did. As supportive as Dean had been of the slowly burgeoning relationship, obviously the actual first date itself was proving to be hard on him.

“We taught him well,” Sam wrapped an arm around Dean’s shoulder. “We’re just going to have to trust him to make the right decisions.”

“If it were anybody but Liddy. . . .” Dean shook his head. “In this, Dad’s vulnerable.”

“He’s been alone for over twenty years, Dean,” Sam said quietly. “That’s a long time.”

Dean took a deep breath. “Yeah, I know.” He grinned suddenly. “I should have made sure he was packing.”

“A gun?” Sam asked, confused. “He’s taking Liddy to a play at the community center, I hardly think he’ll need a gun.”

“No,” Dean bumped his hip against Sam’s. “You know. . . . packing. In his wallet.”

Sam rolled his yes. “A condom? Dean, are you insane?

Dean snorted. “Liddy’s no hag. Do you really want a sibling?” He thought about it a minute. “I mean, a younger sibling. Dude, you’d suck as an older brother.”

Glad that his brother had recovered from his worry, Sam didn’t correct him. When it came to older brothers, he knew he’d never hold a candle to Dean.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted June 24, 2007


	72. Rude Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is pregnant.

For once it wasn’t one of Sam’s nightmares that disturbed the Winchesters’ slumber. Sam woke with a start when Dean jerked in his arms.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean cried out, his arms reaching down.

“What is it?” Sam was wide awake in a heartbeat. “Is it the baby?”

“My leg,” Dean gritted out between clenched teeth. “Cramp.”

Sam winced in sympathy even as he breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t something bad with the baby. Muscle cramps hurt like hell, something Sam was all too familiar with. Back when their father oversaw their physical training, he always pushed them to their limits. There was a time when helping each other out from the after affects had been commonplace.

Sam turned on the light and looked at Dean in concern. His brother’s face was scrunched up in pain and he was already sweating lightly. Since Dean was doing his best to simultaneously clutch his leg and try to get out of bed, there was no question where the problem was.

“Hey, let me help,” Sam soothed. 

He got up and went to the end of the mattress, grabbing Dean’s leg and lifting it up. Sam’s large hands were useful, as he made a fist and pressed it to the tender inside of Dean’s foot. A couple of hard strokes and he popped the cramp right out. Dean’s body relaxed and his brother heaved a huge sigh of relief.

For a few minutes there was silence in the bedroom. While Dean tried to recover his breath, Sam started massaging the pregnant man’s calf muscles, trying to help them recover from the cramping.

“Sorry, Sammy,” Dean apologized. Sam had been so tired from a particularly hard day on his construction job that he’d fallen asleep on the couch right after dinner.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam assured his brother. “Muscle cramps are common during the later stages of pregnancy.” He gave a half smile. “We might just have to get used to this.”

Dean winced. “That’s something to look forward to.” Sam’s fingers hit a particularly tight knot and he gasped before relaxing even further. “You got the magic finger mojo, Sammy.”

“Mmmm. . . just want to make sure that it doesn’t come back,” Sam commented, continuing to knead his brother’s leg.

He kept his touch light and his vocal tone soothing, but mentally, Sam was berating himself. He’d read as many pregnancy books as Dean had. Knowing his brother, probably more. Sam knew that cramps plagued many pregnant women; either because of the extra weight being carried or deficiencies in calcium or magnesium. He should have been prepared for Dean having problems with them too. 

“Come up here, Sammy,” Dean called softly, trying to draw his leg out of his brother’s grasp.

“What?” Sam asked, confused. He thought his touch was making Dean feel better.

“The cramp’s long gone and it’s not gonna show its ugly face again tonight,” Dean told him. “I can hear that mind of yours workin’ all the way over here. Time to go to sleep; don’t want you falling off a roof or nothing tomorrow.”

Sam smiled and pressed a kiss to Dean’s leg before gently putting it down. He crawled back up the mattress until he was stretched out next to Dean and could pull him into his arms. He put one hand on Dean’s rounded belly and reached his other arm out to turn off the light.

“Are you and Michael going to be able to sleep now?” Sam asked. He started to rub slow circles and smiled when Dean pressed into the touch.

“You keep doin’ that and we’re going to melt right through the mattress,” Dean replied around a yawn.

Sam answered the only way he could, he kept rubbing. He didn’t stop until after Dean’s eyes closed and he fell back asleep. Only then did he settle himself back down, already planning how they’d add foot rubs and leg messages to the daily routine. 

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted July 1, 2007


	73. Babysitting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is ten months old

Turnabout was fair play. Dana Scully had devoted a lot of effort while caring for Dean before and after he gave birth, not to mention taking care of the follow-up for the wound he’d received during the fight with the demon. So when the Mulder-Scully-Skinner-Krychek family needed an overnight babysitter, the Winchesters were only too happy to oblige. Little baby Gretchen’s christening was the next week and they were planning on attending that, but the brothers didn’t mind seeing the family twice in such quick succession. Besides, it was convenient for Dana to give Dean one final exam before declaring him fully healed from his stomach wound and the next weekend would definitely be too busy for her to do that.

The exam went well enough and the Winchesters were soon left at the Scully clan’s house, along with baby Michael, ten months old, and baby Gretchen, almost three months. Oddly enough, it had been Alex Krychek who’d had the hardest time leaving the little girl behind, but with both Walter and Dana coaxing him, they’d managed to convince him that it wouldn’t scar her psyche to spend one night away from her doting parents. 

After feeding and burping the babies, Sam and Dean took both of the children into the family room. Sam spread out a blanket for Gretchen and put her on the floor under her baby gym. Dean set Michael down on the carpet and let the infant loose. Michael wasn’t quite walking yet, but the house was already baby-proof and he could safely work off a little steam by crawling around to explore.

“There you go, champ,” Dean said with satisfaction. “Check the place out.”

Michael made a beeline for Gretchen, fascinated with a baby smaller than him. He crawled right over to her and sat with a soft plop on his diapered bottom. For her part, the younger child just stared at him solemnly. Michael squealed and laughed, prompting a smile from Gretchen.

“Aww, look at that, they’re flirting.” Sam chuckled. It was absolutely adorable and he wished his camera was within reach.

“Careful, Mikey, she’s got that look,” Dean crouched down to warn his son. “Chicks eyeball you like that when they think they can change you. Next thing you know, she’ll be wanting you to give up your binkie, switch diaper brands, and stop napping.”

Sam shook his head, smiling as he sat down on the floor next to the younger baby. “I think he’s got a few years before he has to worry about settling down.”

Michael reached out to pat Gretchen.

“Hey, careful there, Mikey,” Dean warned. “Gentle.”

He wasn’t quite quick enough. Michael didn’t hurt the other baby, but he did manage to knock the ribbon out of her hair. Crowing in delight, Michael tried to eat it, but Dean saved the scrap of material just in time.

“Great,” Sam muttered. “We’re alone with the two of them less than an hour and already she’s not in pristine condition. Dana’s not going to trust us again.”

Dean looked from the ribbon to Gretchen’s nearly bald head. “Chill out, Sam. It’s not like her bangs are gonna get in the way while she’s drivin’ or something.”

“Please go into the baby’s room and get the tube on the right side of the baby changing table,” Sam instructed Dean, taking the hair ribbon from his brother. “Dana told me that’s where they keep the stuff to stick it back on.”

“Dude, is this because I didn’t let you play with the neighbor girl’s Barbie dolls when you were five?” Dean asked skeptically. “Cause I don’t think the world is gonna end if little Gretch here isn’t coiffed just exactly right.”

“I know, I know,” Sam felt ready to pull his own hair. “It’s just that Dana and the guys have done a lot for us and this is the first time they’ve asked for anything in return. I just want to do it perfect, is all.”

“Okay, okay,” Dean got up and addressed his next words to his son. “This is why I was glad you were a boy. Girls are high maintenance. They smell good, but they’re a lot of work.”

Michael looked ready to crawl after his father as Dean left the room, but Sam distracted the boy by dangling a toy in front of him. Michael wasn’t quite as destructive as a Tasmanian Devil, but given the opportunity, he could wreak a fair amount of havoc and Sam would rather that their friends’ house be intact when they got back.

“Sammy,” Dean’s voice came down the corridor. “Did you say the tube on the right side of the changing table?”

“I swear, your Daddy Dean can’t remember his own name sometimes,” Sam solemnly said to his son, prompting another giggle from Michael. “Yeah, Dean, right side.”

“And you’re sure?” Dean’s voice was a little closer.

Sam was getting exasperated. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Dean came back into the family room, grinning from ear to ear. “Dude, it’s K-Y Jelly.”

Although he was sure he’d remembered correctly what Dana had told him, Sam was a little hesitant. “They’ve got a wireless connection, let me check it out.” There was no way he was putting a feminine product into his friends’ baby’s hair without doing research on it. Thankfully, the computer was in the family room and already booted up.

A few minutes later, Sam sat back in his chair. “Huh. Yeah, it is used for that.”

Dean made a sound that was dangerously close to a giggle. “I can’t wait until Foxy gets home and I can tease him about putting K-Y Jelly in his daughter’s hair.”

“Oh, I’d rethink that if I were you,” Sam cautioned him, taking the tube from his brother.

“Why?” Dean asked. “It’s funny. Right, Mikey?” Michael squealed right on cue. “See? Mikey thinks it’s funny too.”

“Just keep in mind that when you’re teasing Fox Mulder about putting K-Y Jelly into his daughter’s hair, you’re also teasing Walter Skinner about putting K-Y Jelly into his daughter’s hair,” Sam carefully squeezed out a drop of liquid, put it on the back of the bow, and then gingerly pressed the bow onto Gretchen’s head. When the bow stayed on and the baby didn’t cry, he breathed a sigh of relief. 

Sam looked up at his brother to see Dean frowning, but even as he watched, his brother’s expression cleared.

“Dana didn’t spend all that time patching me up just to let Walter hurt me,” Dean declared smugly. “She’ll protect me.”

“Really?” Sam arched one eyebrow. “Dana Scully will protect you after you’ve made jokes about her daughter having a personal lubricant in her hair?”

Dean’s face fell. “Well, if you put it that way. . . .”

“And you haven’t even mentioned Krychek,” Sam went on. “He won’t get mad, he’ll just sneak up behind you and - . . . .”

“Okay, okay, you made your point,” Dean sounded petulant, but Sam ignored him. Dean loved to torment Fox Mulder and no doubt would find something else to needle the other man about before the night was over.

Entertaining two babies wasn’t that much harder than entertaining one, but Sam reminded himself that Gretchen was still pretty little. She didn’t do much more than eat and poop. As soon as he thought the p-word, his nose twitched. 

“Okay, somebody stinks,” Sam stated. Mikey was crawling by and he grabbed his son. Michael bounced impatiently in his arms while Sam pulled out his diaper at the waist and did a quick sniff check. “Not this one.”

“Great, that means it’s this one,” Dean winced. It was his turn to be the diaper wrangler. “C’mon, darlin’, Uncle Dean’ll take care of you.” He carefully picked up the little girl. “Man, I don’t think Michael was ever this small.”

Sam’s nose crinkled as he smiled. “Sure he was. He’s just grown a lot is all.” He well remembered how tiny his little boy had seemed at first and how freakishly big his hands had felt in comparison. Looking over at the sturdy little boy currently hanging on to the couch and trying to pull himself to his feet, it did indeed feel like a very long time ago that Michael had been a newborn.

Dean carefully carried Gretchen down the hall into her room. It was only a few moments later when Dean’s startled call scared the crap out of Sam.

“Sammy!”

Not taking time to think, Sam lurched to his feet and grabbed Michael, steadying the boy on his hip as he walked as fast as he could to the baby’s room. Dean was standing by the baby changing table, where Gretchen was buckled in with a safety belt and cooing happily. Her little onsie had been undone and the diaper unfastened, but was still in place. In contrast to her obvious ease, Dean had a stunned look on his face and was slowly backing away.

“What’s the matter?” Sam asked, heart still in his throat.

“I can’t do it,” Dean looked up at Sam, helpless. “It’s too weird. You’ll have to change her, Sam.”

Frowning, Sam handed Michael over to Dean. The older infant had been a little freaked at Dean’s startled voice and even more so at Sam’s reaction. Dean immediately started to bounce the fussing boy as soon as he had him in his arms.

Not sure of what to expect, Sam cautiously approached the changing table. Gretchen blew a baby bubble at him, totally content. Relaxing a little, Sam took hold of the diaper and gently looked underneath. There was no real mess, just a little bit of baby poo.

“Everything looks fine here,” Sam said, turning to his brother in confusion. “A little messy, but Michael does worse, every day. What’s your problem?”

Dean was downright pale. “She’s got girl parts.” He gulped. “In miniature.”

Sam didn’t know whether to laugh or simply strangle his brother. “Dean, if you haven’t noticed by now, Michael has miniature boy parts. Babies are just people who haven’t grown up yet, of course they have genitalia.” 

Wincing at Sam’s choice of words, Dean looked away. “Doesn’t make it right.” 

By this time, Sam could diaper a baby with his eyes shut and one arm tied behind his back. It was easy for him to go about cleaning Gretchen and changing her diaper while he talked to his brother. “I thought you’d helped take care of a baby girl before?”

“Yeah, well, it was different then,” Dean confessed. “I didn’t actually look, you know, down there, when I changed Annie’s diaper.”

Annie was Joshua’s daughter, a fellow hunter. Dean had stayed with them for a few months while a broken leg healed, back when Sam was at Stanford. Sam didn’t like to be reminded of the incident, mainly because he hadn’t found out about it until after Michael was born. Even though Sam had been the one to leave, he found himself jealous of the time they’d spent apart.

“Wait a minute,” Sam needed clarification. “You cleaned a baby’s butt without actually looking at it?” Just because Sam had earlier thought that he could diaper a baby blindfolded didn’t mean he’d actually tried it. “Gee, squeamish much?”

Dean shrugged, trying and woefully failing to look nonchalant. “What can I say? I was younger then and not as experienced.”

Sam decided not tease his brother anymore about it, but filed the information away for later use. Now that he wasn’t panicked, he took a closer look at the room. “Wow. This is a lot of pink.”

“Yeah,” Dean slowly turned as he looked at the décor. “It looks like a bottle of Pepto Bismal exploded.” He stared from the pink walls, to the pink carpet, to the pink bedding on the crib. “Make that bottles of Pepto Bismal. Lots of them.”

Not only was there a lot of pink, there was also an abundance of frills and kittens.

“Sammy, promise me something,” Dean stated in a subdued voice. “When we have our second kid, promise me it won’t be a girl.”

“There’s nothing wrong with girls,” Sam felt compelled to point out. “You like girls.”

“Yeah,” Dean crossed the room and kissed Sam soundly. “But I like you better.” 

Squished a little between his fathers, Michael giggled. Gretchen picked that moment to start fussing at being left out. Sam unbuckled her safety belt and carefully lifted her.

“I can handle werewolves and vampires,” Dean went on to say. “Ghosts and uneasy spirits, but little girls mean dolls and hair barrettes, and tea parties. I’m just not ready for that shit.”

Sam grinned. He couldn’t believe that his brother was comparing a little girl to a supernatural monster. “I’m sure if the unthinkable should happen, you’d be able to handle a baby girl just fine. Just the miracle of having a baby is enough for me, I’m not gonna be picky about what kind we get.”

Dean’s expression softened. “You’re looking forward to it, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Sam admitted. “But there’s time enough for that. Right now, I’m just enjoying the hell out of watching Michael grow.”

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother’s sentimentality, even though Sam knew damn well that his brother felt every bit the same. “Speaking of girls, have I ever mentioned that you are one?”

It was an old argument.

“This coming from the man who gave birth and, oh yeah, can’t look at a baby girl without her diaper on?” Sam countered. He turned with Gretchen and headed back towards the family room.

“Hey, Sam?” Dean asked as he followed. “The pink room, I can tease Foxy about that, can’t I?”

Sam thought about it. “It should be safe. After all, it’s the parents who made that choice, not the baby.”

“Good, because, dude, that’s an obscene amount of pink.”

Laughing, Sam had to agree. Anyone who used that much pink deserved a little teasing. Still, he decided to wait a little longer before reminding Dean that he’d already had a distinct feeling that their second child would be a boy. Dean would retaliate with Sam for withholding information, but that would be half the fun.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted July 8, 2007


	74. No Fair!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is six, Danny is two

Sam surreptitiously watched while his brother readied the kitchen garbage bag. Not that garbage was particularly interesting, but the way Dean’s jeans clung to his ass as he bent over was. It was a definite disappointment when Dean straightened. To Sam’s embarrassment, Dean shot him an amused look as he went to the door of the kitchen to call for the oldest Winchester child. Sam was so busted.

“See something you like, Sammy?” Dean murmured as he moved past.

Since Dean knew damn well that he did, Sam kept his mouth shut. Dean sauntered to the door leading to the rest of the house and struck a pose, with one hip jutting out. The bastard.

“Mikey, trash is ready,” Dean called out to their son. “Come and get it.”

The brothers had decided that Michael was of an age that he could handle simple chores. Of course, by the age of six, Dean was pretty much capable of taking care of his younger brother full time, but neither Dean nor Sam wanted that for their own children. They just thought that some easy jobs around the house would be good for Michael. The fathers were always careful not to fill the garbage bags up too much so that they weren’t too heavy. They went through a lot of bags that way, but felt it was worth it.

From the pouting expression on Michael’s face as he entered the kitchen, however, their eldest didn’t agree.

“Who rained on your parade?” Dean asked. 

“It’s not fair,” Michael complained as he tromped over to the bag that was waiting for him. “Danny doesn’t have to do chores.”

“Danny’s two,” Sam pointed out logically. “You didn’t do chores when you were two either.”

Logic didn’t go very far with a little boy who’d rather be watching television with his baby brother than taking out the trash.

“But I’m still a little kid too,” Michael grumbled obstinately. “It’s not fair.”

Sam had a feeling he was looking into a mirror. He seemed to remember saying that phrase a lot, way back when. In fact, one time his father had threatened to have it tattooed on his forehead.

“I tell you what, you don’t have to take out the trash,” Dean offered.

Michael’s jaw dropped, as did Sam’s. He didn’t say anything, though, knowing his brother had a deft hand when it came to handling the kids. Dean claimed it was from his years of acting as a referee between Sam and John. As a mature adult, Sam regretted that Dean had to cultivate those skills, but he couldn’t deny that they were coming in handy.

“I don’t?” Michael asked. Their son was a smart kid and clearly suspected something was up.

“Nope,” Dean assured him, reaching for the bag. “Of course, if you aren’t a big enough kid to take out the garbage, then you can’t do other big kid things.”

Michael maintained his hold on the bag. “Like what?”

“Well, big kids get to watch big kid shows, like the NanoWarriors,” Dean stated. That was currently Michael’s favorite program. “Little kids watch stuff like Thomas the Tank Engine and Elmo.”

Thankfully, Barney was practically unheard of by the time the Winchesters’ kids got old enough to be interested in television. As for the Wiggles, Dean’s one-time hunting prey, after 60 Minutes did an expose on them, parents around the country burned their tapes and smashed their DVDs.

“Little kids go to bed an hour earlier,” Dean continued. “And they have baths instead of showers and their dads have to wash them.”

Sam saw what Dean was doing and chimed in. “Big kids get some choices at meal time and little kids just eat what their dads give them. Big kids sit in a booster chair instead of a big car seat.”

Michael sighed and got a better grip on the bag. “Okay. I guess I’m a big kid.”

It was a reluctant admission at best. Dean, like Sam, didn’t like to see either one of his kids upset.

“Hey, being an older brother means you get do a lot of things first,” Dean consoled the boy as he put a hand on his shoulder. “Some of those are good and some aren’t so good. Sorry, buddy.”

“What are some of the good things?” Michael asked, clearly having had enough of the bad already.

“You get to go to school first,” Dean stated promptly. Michael adored Kindergarten. “Amusement park rides, movies, getting a bike. All of that stuff.”

“Really?” Michael perked right up. “What else?”

Dean looked to Sam, who took the hint and was quick to think of some other firsts that would appeal to the boy. “You’ll drive a car before Danny and you’ve already learned to read before Danny and tie your shoes too.”

“Yeah!” Michael crowed, standing up straighter and looking more cheerful about things.

“Mikey, I want you!” Danny yelled from the other room.

“Just a minute, Danny,” Michael called back. “I gotta take out the trash.” And with good will, he went out the back door and headed towards the big garbage can outside.

His fathers watched him with pride and contentment.

“Kissing,” Sam said suddenly.

Dean gave him an amused look. “Well, as a general rule, I’m in favor of it, but what the hell are you talking about, Sammy?”

Sam came up behind Dean and wrapped his arms around him. “You started kissing before I did. I hated that.”

That statement got him a throaty chuckle. “Yeah, well, you made up for lost time.”

“Mary Connor,” Sam stated, leaning his chin against his brother’s shoulder. “That little tramp in Evansville.”

Startled, Dean turned awkwardly in Sam’s arms to look at him. “How’d you know who my first kiss was?”

“Oh, I knew,” Sam growled. “I knew each and every one of them.”

“Why, Sammy,” Dean said brightly and with obvious smugness. “You jealous little thing, you.”

“You damn well better believe it,” Sam muttered before closing his lips over Dean’s.

The screen door slammed as Michael came back into the house. “Kissing. Ick.”

The brothers chuckled at the disgust in his tone, the laughter causing their kiss to end. 

“You’ll appreciate it someday,” Sam assured him. 

“Yeah and you’ll do this before Danny too,” Dean added. As an aside, he muttered, “At least, Danny better not get to that before Mikey.”

“Nah-huh,” Michael denied vehemently as he ran back towards the room where the television was. “Not gonna kiss. Never.”

After he was gone, his dads chuckled and relaxed into each other’s arms.

“You suppose we can hold him to that?” Dean asked.

Sam snorted. “Your son? I don’t think so.”

“Damn,” Dean sighed. “Well, you’ll just have to be extra thorough when you tell him about the birds and the bees then.”

“Me?” Sam protested. “Why is that my job?”

Dean grinned. “You really want me to give our sons their sex education?”

When he put it like that. . . . 

“We’ll make that decision when the time comes,” Sam replied finally.

His brother’s grin became a leer. “In the meantime, maybe we better make sure we don’t forget the mechanics of the whole thing, huh? Wanna practice tonight?”

“You are such a charmer,” Sam laughed as he let his brother go. “No wonder you swept me off my feet, you sweet talker.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Dean shot back. He puckered his lips and blew Sam a kiss before going back to cleaning the kitchen up. 

Sam pitched in to help and as they worked in companionable silence, Sam couldn’t help but remember all of the firsts that were unique to their family. First salt and burn. First silver bullet. First wound from a hunt gone bad. With any luck, Michael and Danny would be spared the bulk of that kind of first. Dean, as he always did, had forged the way for Sam, in hunting as in the other aspects of their life.

Now, though, the brothers met every milestone together and Sam wouldn’t change that for anything.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on July 28, 2007


	75. The Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kids are approximately two and six.

There was a time when Sam Winchester could pull a late night, either studying or hunting, and not suffer too many ill effects. That was BC, though. Before Children. With two little boys to look after and students to teach, late nights during the week were a thing of the past.

On election night, though, Sam made an exception.

The Winchesters had been keeping an eye on Minnesota’s proposed amendment to allow same sex marriages. Sam had gone so far as to do some campaigning for it; a leftover from his activist days at Stanford. On election night, though, he eschewed campaign headquarters to spend the evening with his family. Family, after all, was what the amendment was all about. 

Dean stuck with Sam, although he wasn’t typically a political creature. After the kids had gone to bed, the brothers retreated to the couch. Dean had the more physical job and, bored to death by the political commentary, had soon fallen asleep. Sam hadn’t minded. It was soothing to sit with Dean’s head in his lap, running his fingers through the other man’s hair.

Then the results came in.

Sam sat straighter as the news anchor said it was coming up and then grinned widely when it was announced that the amendment had passed. 

“Yes,” Sam whispered hoarsely. He didn’t want to wake Dean, but he couldn’t help but pump his fist in the air.

“Wh-what?” Dean struggled to sit up, attuned, as he always was, to Sam’s moods.

“It passed,” Sam told him. He swooped in for a quick kiss. “The same sex marriage amendment — it passed.”

Dean smiled, slow and sleepy, savoring the kiss. Then he tilted his head, considering Sam carefully. “This means a lot to you; more than the usual Sam stubbornness about wanting to do something just because someone told you that you can’t.”

Sam shrugged. “Part of the reason we moved here was because Minnesota is more liberal than some of the other areas I received offers from.” The other reason had been wanting to raise their children in the Midwest. “It only seems fair that a state known for its open-mindedness should extend that to marriage. Just think how much easier it would have been to deal with that bully at Michael’s school if we’d had an official marriage certificate to back us up.”

That reference caused a frown, as Sam knew it would. Michael had received some teasing in school for having two fathers. The little boy had been reluctant to talk about it, but eventually Dean and Sam got him to open up. That had lead to a huge discussion with Michael’s teacher and, eventually, the other parent involved. Maybe having a state-sanctified marriage wouldn’t have made a difference, but Sam would have felt better about it.

Dean sighed and got up. Sam was disappointed; he missed his brother’s warmth almost immediately. Dean didn’t go far, though. In fact, he simply stepped in front of Sam before getting down on one knee.

“Samuel Winchester,” Dean stated quietly as he reached for Sam’s hands. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my lawfully wedded husband?”

Sam gaped, not believing what Dean was doing. Then, because he didn’t believe it, Sam got angry.

“Not funny, Dean,” Sam barked, yanking his hands out of Dean’s grasp. “Don’t kid around about this.”

There was no knowing smirk or evil chuckle in response. Instead, Dean’s green eyes snapped with anger. Before Sam could react, Dean fisted his hand in the front of Sam’s shirt and yanked him forward. 

“For the record,” Dean’s voice was a controlled growl. “I don’t kid about standing up in front of our family and friends and pledging to spend the rest of my life with you. That’s no joke.”

Sam opened his mouth, but no sound came out. At that, Dean did smirk and leaned forward, taking advantage of Sam’s speechlessness to kiss him with great enthusiasm. Somewhere around the time Dean’s tongue was pressing for entrance, Sam realized that his brother was being serious. He did want to marry Sam.

“Yes,” Sam broke away from Dean’s mouth to murmur. He pressed his forehead against this brother’s. “Yes.”

Dean chuckled. “That mean you’re gonna make an honest man out of me?”

In spite of the situation, Sam snorted. “I wouldn’t go that far.” He kissed Dean. “Besides, I think the kids took care of that already.”

The two men ended up on the couch, Dean on top of Sam, and making out like teenagers. It went on for several minutes, until Dean pulled back with a groan. 

“What?” Sam panted.

“I’m going to have to wear a suit,” Dean complained. “I hate wearing a suit.”

Sam felt like groaning himself, wanting to get back to the kissing. “It’s a once in a lifetime thing, Dean.” His brother made a grumbling noise that sounded a lot like ‘damn straight it is,’ but Sam ignored him. “Maybe you’ll even wear a tuxedo.”

“A penguin suit?” Dean was indignant. “I’m not wearing one of those.”

His mind having temporarily shorted out at the thought of Dean in a tux, it took Sam a moment to find a suitable response. “James Bond wears one.”

It was the perfect thing to say. Dean’s lips pursed and Sam could almost see his brother making a visible comparison. “Okay.” Dean’s smirked. “Even if I’m wearing a penguin suit, it’ll be better than what you’ll be wearing.”

“What?” Sam was confused. “I’ll be wearing a tux too.”

“Nope,” Dean poked him. “I asked you to marry me, that makes you the girl. You’ll be wearing a dress.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “The whole point of the same sex amendment is that there doesn’t have to be a girl.” His mood turned serious. “Um, Dean? Do you mind if we get married in a church?”

Dean shrugged. “I guess I just assumed we would. Don’t you want that Maid Marion of yours to marry us?”

“It’s Pastor Marion,” Sam corrected him. “And she’s done a lot of commitment ceremonies, so I know she’d be happy to do our wedding too. That is, if you don’t mind.”

“No, I don’t,” Dean assured him. “I mean, I always thought if I got married that Pastor Jim would do it, but that’s not an option.” Jim’s death still hurt. “If you want Marion, that’s okay by me.”

Sam smiled and leaned forward to kiss Dean again. His brother, however, surprised him by leaning back and shaking his head.

“Na-huh,” Dean chided Sam. “None of that, mister. Not until we’re married.”

“What?” Sam blinked. “What are you talking about?”

Dean smirked. “No hanky panky until we’re formally hitched. What would people think?”

Sam chuckled. “Since we have two kids together, it seems a little late for that.” He wiggled until he was out from under Dean and could stand. “Come on, let’s go upstairs.”

“And practice for the honeymoon?” Dean waggled his eyebrows. “Sammy, you dog. One thing’s for sure, no virginal white for you.”

Sam’s heart was light as they made their way upstairs. In every way that mattered, he and Dean had been joined in marriage for years. Now that it was possible to make that union legal, Sam was surprised how deeply it mattered to him. Oh, he’d known it was important, but more on a society scale than a personal one. 

They didn’t need a big ceremony or a fancy one, Sam envisioned just a simple exchange of vows. . . . but on that point, Sam Winchester proved himself fallible when it came to predicting the future.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally Posted August 7, 2007


	76. Danny Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny is three, Michael is seven.

Dean’s phone rang just as he turned the car off. He checked the number before answering it and was smiling as he flipped it open. “Yo, Sammy. Where are you? I thought we were meeting at the daycare?”

His smile slipped away even before Sam started talking. He knew his brother well enough to know when a silence was loaded.

“Dean, I’m not going to be able to make it.”

“What’s wrong?” Dean wasn’t even tempted to snipe and Sam’s heavy sigh told him that his instincts were right on the money.

“We got word that one of our students hung himself in the dorm this morning,” Sam’s tone was subdued. “They’ve got grief counselors coming out later this afternoon, but until then, the administration wants as many professors available as possible.”

“To be a shoulder to cry on,” Dean supplied for him. He got out of the car and started heading towards the building. “Yeah, I get it. Sam, was the kid that offed himself one of yours?”

“No.”

Dean closed his eyes in relief. Knowing Sam, he’d be broken up about it anyway, but if had been one of Sam’s students, Dean knew his brother would have taken the news even harder.

Sam chuckled bitterly. “And I’m glad it’s not someone I knew, isn’t that the most shallow thing you’ve ever heard?”

“No,” Dean reassured him. “It’s just human nature, Sammy. You keep telling me that you’re not a saint. Well, guess what? That’s an unsaintly thing to think and it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

There was a small silence. “Either way, I won’t be able to come with you to Danny’s doctor appointment. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean knew exactly what his brother was thinking. “It’s just a wellness check-up and a shot. No big deal and it doesn’t make you a bad father because you have to miss it.”

“Call me and let me know how it goes?” Sam sounded forlorn and Dean couldn’t help but react to that.

“Absolutely.” Dean had reached the entrance to the daycare. “And, Sam? Love you.” He waited until Sam answered back before disconnecting. 

“DeeDee!” Dean had barely gotten in the door before his three year-old launched himself at him. “Hi!”

“Hey there, tiger,” Dean grinned as he caught him. It was hard to stay melancholy long in his youngest son’s presence. 

“Can we go now, DeeDee?” Danny wiggled to get down. “Go!”

“My goodness,” Liddy smiled as she approached them. “I’ve never seen a child so anxious to go to the doctor.”

“I don’t think it’s the appointment as much as it is something new to do,” Dean replied. Danny was dancing at his feet. “What do you say? Want to blow this joint?”

“Yeah!” Danny shouted, but then he stopped and gave Liddy a guilty glance from underneath lowered eyelashes, obviously having remembered just a moment too late to use his inside voice. “Sorry.”

“You’ll remember next time, sweetheart,” she ruffled his hair. “Now you two boys better get going or you’ll be late.”

Danny didn’t walk out to the car as much as he skipped, jumped and ran. Dean let him, marveling at the little boy’s energy. Once he got his son into the car seat, he switched out the tapes. He’d been listening to Led Zepplin, but Danny was a Skynard fan.

At first, Danny chattered at Dean, telling him all about his morning and the activities at the daycare center. The closer they got to the doctor’s office, though, the quieter the toddler got. Dean had a feeling that it was finally occurring to the boy what their destination meant.

The subdued child that Dean helped out of the back seat was different than the happy kid that he’d escorted from the daycare. “What’s the problem, buddy?”

Big green eyes looked up at him. “Is Dr. Li gonna give me a shot?”

Dean was a big believer in being honest with his kids. “Yup.”

Danny’s lower lip started to tremble. “Is it gonna hurt?”

The eyes were bad enough, but combined with the tremble, Dean was a goner. He picked the child up and settled him on the Impala’s hood so they were closer to eye level as they talked. “It’ll hurt just a little bit.”

“How much?”

“More than a mosquito bite, less than a bee sting,” Dean replied after a moment’s thought. “It doesn’t hurt for very long, either.”

Danny chewed on that thought, but at least he didn’t look scared anymore. “Then how come we have to have them, if they hurt?”

“Because they keep you from getting certain kinds of sick,” Dean promptly replied. “I’m not talking the sniffles, but really, really sick. Your DaSa and I think a little pin prick of a shot’s better than that for you.”

“Okay,” Danny sighed. Clearly, he wasn’t happy about it, but he’d put up with a shot if it kept his fathers happy.

“Good,” Dean held out his hand and Danny took it. By the time they walked into the doctor’s office, the skip was back in the boy’s step. Nothing kept Danny down for long.

Dr. Li had been the boy’s pediatrician since they’d moved to Minnesota. The wellness check was routine and it wasn’t long before they got to the inoculation part of the visit.

“Danny, I’m going to give you a shot now,” Dr. Li warned the little boy as she got the injection ready.

“That’s okay,” Danny told her. “It doesn’t hurt much.”

Dean couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride. Sam might still resent the Winchester toughness, but Dean was glad to see it in his son. He helped the little boy lower his pants and, although Danny bit his lip when the shot was given, there were no tears.

“All done,” the doctor said. “Good job, Danny.”

Danny stopped his father when Dean went to pull his pants back up. “Wait, DeeDee. You gotta kiss it and make it better.”

The gleam of mischief in Danny’s eyes told Dean that the little boy knew exactly what he was asking, but Dean played along. He moved into position and gasped theatrically. “Danny, I can’t kiss your butt. It’s broken.”

“Broke?” Danny asked, twisting around.

“Yeah,” Dean answered with a straight face. “It’s got a big crack in it.”

Dr. Li rolled her eyes, having gotten used to Dean’s sense of humor. Danny, on the other hand, was a connoisseur of butt jokes and giggled. If Dean thought it would distract the little boy from his earlier request, however, he was mistaken.

“Kiss,” Danny said imperiously as Dean once again moved to pull the boys pants up. Seeing his father’s eyes narrow at his tone, he added a pleading, “Please.”

Dean puckered up and kissed the wounded bottom, causing his son to giggle. After that, the rest of the visit was anticlimactic and a few minutes later, with a clean bill of health, they were headed back to the car.

“My tummy’s rumbling,” Danny complained.

After checking his watch, Dean realized that it was lunchtime. “Okay, let’s go grab something to eat.”

“McDonalds?” Danny sounded hopeful.

In truth, Dean had planned on stopping there, then dropping Danny back at daycare before heading back to the house to get some chores done. One thing the morning had shown him, though, was that he didn’t spend much one-on-one time with Danny. They usually did things with the kids together and Mikey was getting to the age where he could start doing things with friends, but Danny was still too little for that.

Abruptly, Dean changed his plans for the afternoon.

“Nope, no McDonalds,” Dean answered, then hastened to explain before any pouting could start. “I was thinking maybe Chuck E. Cheese instead.”

“Really?” Danny’s eyes were wide with shock. “But Mikey’s not here.”

“No, but Mikey didn’t get a shot in the butt today either.” Dean pointed out. “I hearby declare it Danny Day and that means Chuck E. Cheese for lunch.” 

“Yeah, Chuck E. Cheese!” Danny started bouncing around and Dean had a hard time corralling him long enough to get him into the car.

Sam hated Chuck E. Cheese with a passion, but Dean liked the place. As a kid who’d grown up moving around a lot, arcades and movie theaters had been good substitutes for friends. Maybe it wasn’t quite as appealing since he’d become an adult, but seeing Danny so excited about it would make putting up with an arcade full of squealing children worth it.

Dean tried to call Sam on their way to Chuck E. Cheese, but it went directly into Sam’s voice mail. Dean left a message, figuring that Sam was busy comforting students and would appreciate hearing that at least Danny’s visit went well. He also called Liddy at the daycare, informing her that Danny wouldn’t be back that afternoon. 

When they got to Chuck E. Cheese, Dean was pleasantly surprised to see that it wasn’t all that crowded. That made sense, once he thought about it, since it was the middle of the day during the middle of the week. He quickly ordered them some pizza and then got in a few rounds of Skee-Ball with Danny, figuring it would be good to let the little boy work off some energy before expecting him to sit still long enough to eat anything.

“Okay, let your dad show you how it’s done,” Dean rolled up his sleeves and picked up a ball. Danny watched, wide-eyed, as Dean wound up for his throw. His old skills came back to him and his wrist snapped at just the right moment. The ball ended up in the 100 point hole.

“Wow,” Danny breathed, impressed. 

“Now you try,” Dean gestured the boy up and, standing behind him, guided the boy in his first throw. “Hey, you got 20 points. Not bad for your first throw.”

Danny hopped up and down. “Again?”

Dean was almost sorry when their order was ready. Danny must have been very hungry, because he didn’t whine when his father made him stop playing to eat.

“Yeah, we’re number twelve,” Dean told the woman behind the counter and he handed her their receipt.

“You sure are,” she grinned at him and then beamed down at Danny. “Are you having a good time, sweetie?”

“Yup,” Danny nodded hard enough to make his bangs flop into his eyes. “And you know what?”

The woman leaned over the counter. She had gray hair and looked like a grandmother. “What?”

“DeeDee kissed my butt,” Danny told her proudly.

Dean stifled a groan. “He had a shot today,” he explained sheepishly.

“Oh, honey, you don’t have to explain to me,” she chuckled. “I see parents and their kids all day, every day. Lots of butt kissing goes on here, one way or another.”

She handed him a tray with their food, winking at Dean’s blush. Dean followed Danny to the table. Danny impatiently waited for Dean to cut up a slice of pizza for him, being too young to handle eating it by hand. 

“Good, huh?” Dean asked, after biting into his own.

“Yup,” Danny nodded. “Real good.”

It didn’t take either Winchester long to wolf down their food, but then again most people didn’t visit Chuck E. Cheese because of the quality of the pizza and it wasn’t anything to linger over. Dean was actually surprised by the amount he was able to get Danny to finish, fully expecting the little boy to be too excited to sit still long. Even so, it didn’t take them long to finish and throw away the remains of their lunch.

“Whoa there, buddy,” Dean grabbed Danny by the belt as the little boy set off to run back to the games portion of the place. “I want you to try to go potty first.”

His commented caused an instant pout on the three year-old face. “But I don’t have to go.”

“Are you sure?” Dean prodded. “Because if you mess your pants, we have to leave. It’s up to you. One minute to try and go potty or going home early.”

Danny sighed and, much put-upon, tromped to the bathroom. Dean let the attitude slide, since, for Danny, that had actually been an easy capitulation. He didn’t know why their youngest was resisting potty training, but it did not bode well for the boy’s teen years. Dean already had extra respect for his father; he didn’t know how the man had survived both Dean and Sam’s adolescence. If he and Sam weathered their sons’ half as well, Dean would be a happy man.

“Look, Danny,” Dean exclaimed after they exited the men’s room. “They’ve got Whack-a-Mole.”

Potty pouting was forgotten in the exuberance of mole whacking. Danny did well enough on his own, but with his father’s help, he was unbeatable. Dean almost felt sorry for the moles. Their painted-on smiles seemed a little forced after a few games, so he coaxed Danny onto something else. They tried most of the games in the place, the exception being the games that spewed out tickets. Both Sam and Dean considered those to be thinly veiled gambling and while Dean wasn’t a prude, neither did he want his toddler placing bets at the local arcade.

It took some time, but eventually Danny’s energy started to flag. Inoculations sometimes had side effects and from the way Danny acted, Dean figured his son was starting to feel it. When Danny threw his Skee-Ball into the wrong lane for the second time, Dean called it quits.

“All right, tiger, that’s enough,” Dean declared cheerfully. He pretended not to see the pout starting. “We have to go on to the next Danny Day activity.”

It worked like a charm. Danny’s lip went back in and he looked eager instead of stubborn. “What’s that, DeeDee?”

Dean didn’t have the foggiest idea what they’d do next, but he didn’t let on that he didn’t. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

After getting into the car, Dean took a quick look at his watch. Michael had Cub Scouts after school and it was another parent’s turn to drive, so time wasn’t really a concern. He pulled the Impala out onto the street and thought about running by the movie theater to see what was playing. As he headed in that direction, though, he saw a sign at the library that indicated it was story day. The starting time was less than fifteen minutes away, so deciding it was serendipity, Dean made a quick turn.

“Where are we going, DeeDee?” Danny asked from the back seat.

“Story time,” Dean told him. “How does that sound?”

“Yeah!” Danny yelled.

Dean chuckled, but didn’t get too puffed up at his son’s reaction. Danny probably would have been just as enthusiastic had Dean announced they were taking a trip to the hardware store. In any case, taking Danny to something educational like a story reading would get Dean brownie points with Sam, which was always good in Dean’s book.

Once inside the library, it was easy to tell where the story area was. A small sea of children milled around a woman sitting in a chair. The woman was wearing a hat that looked like a cross between one a witch and a fairy godmother would wear. Dean noticed that most parents were dropping their kids off and then went off to browse in the book section, but there was no way he was doing that. When the storyteller had the kids gather around, Dean came too. He settled on the floor, cross-legged, and Danny immediately crawled into his lap.

It turned out to be more of a book reading than a true storytelling. As Dean listened, he looked for techniques he could use in his own storytelling efforts, but after a few minutes of taking notes with a critical ear, he decided that he was better. That was a little surprising. He knew that the kids enjoyed his stories and Sam always told him that he was really good at it, but he’d never had anything to compare his talents to before.

“Did you enjoy it?” Dean asked Danny when the story time was over. 

“Uh-huh,” Danny had become sleepy during the presentation, but became more awake when it was over. “But your stories are better.”

Dean couldn’t help the happy grin that comment caused. “Thanks, kiddo, but we need to go tell the library lady thank you for the story.”

“Okay.”

Other parents had the same idea and the Winchesters had to wait in a line for a few minutes. As they got closer, Dean saw that the woman who’d read the story was younger than he thought. Younger than him, actually, and he pegged her for a student teacher or the like.

“Thank you for the story,” Danny piped out clearly when it was their turn. Dean nudged his son gently as a prompt for the rest of it. “It was very nice.”

“Well, thank you.” She beamed. After glancing at Dean, she did a double-take and her smile grew more coy. “Thank you very much. I don’t think I’ve seen you here before, Mr. . . . ?”

“Winchester,” Dean held out a hand. “Dean Winchester. And, thanks, you spin a good yarn.”

“Thank you, Dean. My name’s Molly, ” her gaze slid down Dean’s body and back. “Please feel free to come back anytime. I read the stories to the kids on Tuesday afternoons and Saturday mornings.”

“Yeah,” Dean appreciated knowing he was attractive, but didn’t particularly like someone flirting with him in front of his kid. “My husband reads the same book to the boys at bedtime, but it’s not the same without the hat.”

“Husband?” Molly’s smile slipped.

“Yup, husband,” Dean took a great deal of pleasure in repeating.

“My DeeDee kissed me on the butt,” Danny chose that moment to chime in.

“What?” Molly looked a little dazed.

“Dr. Li poked me in the butt and DeeDee kissed it and made it all better,” Danny explained.

Dean felt himself blush again. “He had a shot today.”

“I’m sure he did,” her voice got faint. “If you’ll excuse me. . . .”

Bemused, Dean watched as she walked way. A little hand tugging at the bottom of his shirt caught his attention.

“DeeDee, did I do something wrong?” Danny looked worried. 

Dean had been planning on asking the little boy to stop telling people that he’d kissed his butt, but swiftly reconsidered. After all, it’d gotten rid of Miss Molly fast enough.

“Nope, you did just right,” Dean picked the little boy up and headed towards the car. After a quick check of his watch, he realized that it was late afternoon and Sam might be available. “What say we go see DaSa?”

“Yeah!” Danny responded enthusiastically.

When they got to campus and Dean got out of the Impala, a sense of depression was almost palatable in the air. Danny seemed to feel it too, not protesting when Dean picked him up and carried him towards Sam’s building. Normally, Dean would get interested looks from the students, but this time, the few that he saw around seemed to be withdrawn. College kids were young enough that this might be the first time that death had come close to them. Dean would feel sorry for them, except that Sam was one of the people having to deal with the fallout.

“Okay,” Dean said when they got into Sam’s building and on his floor. Sam’s door was open and he could see that his brother was alone. Sure enough, Sam had a careworn look on his face. “Do you see DaSa?”

Danny leaned out of Dean’s arms enough to look down the hall. “Uh-huh. DaSa looks sad.”

“That’s right, he’s sad,” Dean put the boy down and knelt next to him. “So we’re going to cheer him up. Does that sound like a good idea?”

“Yup,” Danny shook his head vigorously. “But, how, DeeDee?”

“Oh, I think a Danny hug should do the trick,” Dean told the boy. “Do you think you can sneak up on him?”

“Uh-huh,” Danny started to move away, but Dean grabbed the back of the pants.

“Danny, we’re at DaSa’s school,” Dean reminded the little boy. “What kind of voice do we use at school?”

Danny’s face scrunched up as he thought about it. “Inside voice?”

“Yup, good boy,” Dean complimented him as he ruffled the child’s hair.

“But DeeDee, how can I surprise DaSa with my inside voice?”

Dean chuckled. “You don’t have to yell to surprise somebody, Danny. Sometimes the best surprises are quiet ones. Now, go get ‘im.”

Danny was only three, but he was a Winchester and his sneaking skills were advanced for his age. Not that Dean or Sam did formal training for either boy, but they were active men and enjoyed playing with their kids. Some of their skills were bound to rub off. Keeping flat to the wall, Danny tiptoed down the hallway and into Sam’s office. Even as quiet as he was being, Sam normally would have spotted him fairly early on, but apparently was distracted enough by the student’s suicide that Danny got all the way to his side without Sam noticing.

“S’pise, DaSa!” Danny whispered hoarsely, remembering to keep to an inside voice.

Sam visibly started and Dean chuckled at the way the way the papers his brother was holding went flying. When he recovered, Sam looked down into the grinning face of his son.

“Danny?” Sam asked, dazed but reaching for the boy. “Where’d you come from?”

“DeeDee brought me,” Danny giggled and wrapped his small arms around his younger father. “He said you needed a hug.”

Sam looked up and saw Dean, who was by that time leaning in his doorway. He smiled at his husband before returning Danny’s hug enthusiastically. “He’s right, I do need a hug.”

Danny squeezed Sam as hard as he could and then leaned back to peer into his father’s face. “Is better?”

“Much better,” Sam told him earnestly. “Just what I needed. Thanks, Danny.” 

Dean came into the room and settled into the chair opposite Sam’s desk. “We were out and about, celebrating Danny Day, and thought we’d stop in and check on how you were doing.”

“Danny Day?” One of Sam’s eyebrows went up.

“Uh-huh,” Danny rushed to explain. “It’s Danny Day ‘cause Dr. Li poked me in the butt with a needle. We had pizza and played games and had a story at the liberry.”

“All that, huh?” Sam grinned down at his son. “Sounds like you’ve been having fun.”

“Uh-huh,” Danny nodded and leaned close to Sam. “An’ guess what?”

Sam’s nose crinkled as he grinned back. “What?”

“DeeDee kissed me on the butt!” Danny covered his mouth as he giggled.

While the child was busy laughing, Sam arched one eyebrow at Dean. “And here I thought mine was the only butt you kissed.”

Dean actually felt himself blushing for a third time that day, which must have been some sort of record. “Well, special circumstances and all.”

“DaSa, can I feed the fishies?” Danny asked, squirming on Sam’s lap.

“Sure,” Sam told him. “Just one pinch, though, okay?”

“Okay.”

Sam had a small aquarium in his office. He claimed that watching the fish swim around helped him think and that, better yet, it calmed his students when they came to consult with him. Privately, Dean thought that Sam just wanted to be the coolest professor in the department.

While Danny was distracted feeding the fish, Dean pulled Sam aside. “How’s it going?”

The deep breath that Sam took before replying was shaky. “About like what you’d think. I forget sometimes how different you and I were raised. Death wasn’t a stranger to us, for good or bad. With these kids, it’s totally different. They’re taking it hard.”

Dean rubbed Sam’s shoulder, knowing that his brother would take the responsibility of helping his students through the crisis very seriously. “We’ll talk about it tonight when you get home.”

Sam’s smile was small, but genuine. “You? Offering to talk? Should I check the sky for flying pigs?”

“Very funny,” Dean changed his motion to a slap on Sam’s shoulder.

“Pigs don’t fly, DaSa,” Danny had finished feeding the fish and come back over.

“That’s the whole point, Danny,” Sam tried to explain. Seeing the confusion on the little boy’s face, he swooped down and picked him up. Danny squeaked as Sam hugged him, hard. “Thanks for the hug, buddy. It was just what I needed.”

“Good,” Danny nodded. He looked over his shoulder at Dean. “Maybe it’s DaSa Day and Danny Day?”

“I tell you what,” Dean reached and took Danny from Sam’s arms. “Tonight’s definitely gonna be DaSa Night.”

Sam blushed, catching his brother’s meaning, but it totally went over Danny’s head. “That sounds good to me.”

“Will you be home at the normal time?” Dean asked, feeling utterly domesticated and not minding it a bit.

“Yeah, the grief counselors finally arrived,” Sam shrugged. “The worst of it should be over, at least for me.”

“Okay, we’re going to hit the road now,” Dean said. “Mikey’ll be home in a little bit. We’ll see you later.”

“Bye,” Sam leaned in for a kiss from both of them. “Thanks for coming; that hug was just what I needed.”

Danny waved until Sam was out of sight, then sighed and laid his head on Dean’s shoulder. “I liked Danny Day, DeeDee.”

“You did?” Dean tightened his grip. “Even if you got a shot?”

“Uh-huh,” Danny’s eyes were getting heavy. At three, he was getting out of the napping stage, but it’d been an exciting day and he’d had an inoculation to boot. “You kissed it and took all the ouchies away.”

Dean was glad he hadn’t asked Danny to stop telling people about that. He knew his own dad probably wouldn’t have done something like that, even though he’d loved Dean and Sam. It was a source of pride for Dean that he was a more hands-on father for his kids.

It hit him as he put Danny in the Impala and helped the sleepy child buckle up his car seat, that his earlier thought was true. Dean Winchester, sometime hunter extraordinaire and former ladies man, was a completely domesticated, butt-kissing father of two and husband of one. . . and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted September 4, 2007


	77. Loaded for Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is three

“Knife.”

Sam pulled a wicked-looking blade from the leather sheath that hung just under his left arm. As he held it aloft, the light rippled off its keenly sharpened cutting edge. 

“Good,” Dean nodded in satisfaction. He made an odd flicking motion with his wrists and suddenly he was holding a knife in each hand. Sam recognized them; the throwing knives and spring-loaded sheath set had been one of the last hunting-related birthday gifts John had given either one of them. 

Dean put his knives away and then pinned Sam with another steely glance. “Gun.”

Still silent, Sam pulled out his Glock from where it was tucked in the back of his pants. Both his coat and dangling shirt tail had kept it covered.

“Good,” Dean repeated and drew breath to speak again, but Sam held up one hand. Keeping his eyes firmly locked on his brother, Sam bent and lifted his pant leg, revealing a small pistol that was tucked into an ankle holster. 

Dean grinned. “Very good.”

The coat Dean was wearing was a long duster, which Sam had thought an unusual choice for Dean. As his brother reached in and pulled out a shotgun from its depths, though, it made sense. Sam had no doubt that the fresh rounds they’d filled with salt the night before were hidden somewhere on his brother’s body.

“Salt?” Dean snapped. 

Sam obligingly showed off the baggy of it that he had stuffed in one coat pocket.

“Holy water?” 

Out came the bottle from the other pocket.

“Good,” Dean nodded again. “I think we’re about as prepared as we’re gonna get.”

A soft chuckle came from behind them. Both Winchesters turned to see Bobby Singer leaning against the door that led into the kitchen.

“You know, boys,” the older hunter drawled. “If you’re this worried about it, you could just not go.”

“Not an option,” Dean stated in a flat tone of voice that made it clear that he would brook no argument on the subject.

“We won’t deny Michael this,” Sam chimed in. “It’s something that neither one of us could enjoy growing up, but he will.”

“And we’ll make damn sure he’s safe while he does it,” Dean finished.

The sound of little feet kept Bobby from replying. “DeeDee, DaSa!” The small boy yelled as he careened into the room, brandishing a plastic sword.. “I’s a pirate!”

“Whoa, dude,” Dean chuckled as he got a good look at the child. “Shiver me timbers.”

Michael pulled up short. “Shiver me. . . what? DeeDee, are you cold?”

“No, kiddo,” Dean ruffled his son’s hair. “It’s just something that pirates say. It means you’re tough.”

“Yup, I’s tough,” the little boy agreed. “I’s a pirate.”

“The scourge of the Seven Seas,” Sam assured him. 

“The what?” Michael’s face scrunched up in confusion as he turned to face his younger father.

Sam laughed softly. “It means that everybody knows how tough you are.”

“Yar!” The three year-old yelled as he waved his sword again.

The little boy was wearing black jeans and a white shirt with a colorful vest over it. A red bandana borrowed from Liddy was tied over his hair and a clip-on earring, also borrowed from their daycare provider, dangled from one ear. Michael had a stuffed parrot tucked under his arm and a soft felt eye patch over one eye.

“Oh, my,” Liddy trailed in after Michael. John Winchester, a scowl on his face, was beside her. “You look very fierce, dear.”

“I’s the dirge of the ABCs,” Michael told her solemnly. 

“Thanks for the help with the costume, Liddy,” Sam thanked her. “We really appreciate it.”

The Winchesters were canny hunters and were getting better at the domestic stuff, but Halloween costumes were beyond them. Michael had wanted to go as a ghost, but his fathers had balked at that. Even with wanting their son to enjoy Halloween like a normal kid, they had too much experience with nasty spirits to be comfortable with Michael dressing as one. In desperation, the brothers had enlisted Liddy’s help in concocting a costume that would distract the toddler from his first choice.

“It was my pleasure,” she assured them. 

“A lot of foolishness, if you ask me,” John grumbled. “Celebrating the paranormal.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “That’s not what it’s really about, Dad. It’s more about wearing costumes and pretending to be someone else for one night.”

He conveniently ignored the fact that he’d hated Halloween during his college years. John’s prejudice against the holiday had stuck with him at Stanford and realizing that fact had always left Sam in too foul a mood to enjoy the fun. He and Dean were in agreement that Michael wouldn’t have the same childhood Halloween experiences, although his armed fathers would be nearby to make sure that the paranormal aspects of the holiday kept their distance.

“You got it wrong, Sammy,” Dean corrected his brother. “There’s only one thing Halloween’s all about. And what’s that, Mikey?”

“Candy!” The little boy jumped up and down in glee.

Sam laughed out loud. Michael had inherited Dean’s love of sweets with a vengeance. He grabbed a plastic pumpkin and handed it to his son. “Here, you’ll need this. Now. What do you say when you go up to the door?”

Michael looked down from the plastic bucket and up into his father’s face. “Gimme candy or else?”

Dean snorted with laughter and Sam glared at him. “No, you say ‘Trick or treat.’”

“Trick or treat,” Michael repeated.

“Very good,” Sam told him. “Are you about ready to go?”

“Yeah!”

All of the adults, even John, laughed at the little boy’s enthusiasm. Liddy looked at her watch and made a small gasp of dismay. “I better leave too. The earliest wave of trick or treaters will be coming soon.”

“I’ll walk you home,” John offered.

Liddy blushed all the way up to her scalp. “Thank you, but that’s not necessary, John. It’s only a couple of blocks.”

John shrugged off her protest. “It’s Halloween and it’ll be dark soon. It’s the least I can do, since my boys pulled you into this.” He pointed at his sons. “You take Michael trick or treating at the shopping mall like you have planned and then get your butts home. It’d be best if you were inside by dark.”

“Oh, they need to stop by my house too,” Liddy exclaimed. “I always have special treats for my kids.”

“Just the little ones or the big ones too?” Dean asked shamelessly.

Liddy laughed as Sam rolled his eyes at his brother. “Oh, the big ones too. You know I wouldn’t forget you, Dean.”

“Good,” Dean said, rubbing his stomach in anticipation. Sam slapped him on the shoulder and Dean turned wounded, innocent eyes on him. “What?”

“I’ll stay behind and hold down the fort,” Bobby offered. He nodded at the closet, where his shotgun was hidden. “I almost pity the punk that tries to egg this house or some such nonsense.”

“No pumping the neighbors full of buckshot,” Dean warned him. “Our landlady wouldn’t like that.”

“Spoil sport,” Bobby muttered.

Sam watched as Dean bent over and whispered something in Michael’s ear. When he finished, Michael nodded and marched over to Bobby.

“You behave, Uncle Bobby,” the little boy stated firmly. “Or you’ll walk the plank.”

“Oh, I will, will I?” Bobby asked, one eyebrow lifted skeptically. “And this is what he’s like before he eats his weight in candy. Are you sure this trick or treating thing is a good idea?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Sam stated firmly.

Shaking his head, Bobby subsided. In short order, they had everything together and both Michael and Liddy were being escorted out of the house.

“You keep your cell phones on,” John gave one last warning as he headed with Liddy towards her house. “Call me if you see even a shadow of trouble.”

“We will,” Sam assured him.

As Michael bounced towards the car, Dean nudged his brother. “I think that maybe Liddy’s candy isn’t the only thing Dad’s sweet on.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Dean,” Sam admonished him.

Dean spread his arms wide. “I’m just saying, is all.”

Sam sighed in exasperation, but didn’t protest any more. He did watch fondly as Dean got Michael, sword and all, situated into his car seat in the back of the Impala. The local shopping mall offered trick or treating and they’d decided that was safer alternative than going house to house, with Liddy’s being an exception.

“You coming, Sam?” Dean called out.

As he trotted towards the car, Sam couldn’t help but compare this Halloween to the last one he celebrated, really celebrated. It had been at Stanford and he’d been with Jess. At that time, he’d been a reluctant celebrant and Halloween was all about drinking and partying. Now it was about holding a little boy’s hand and pirates.

Candy wasn’t the only thing that was sweet; life was too.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on October 11, 2007


	78. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is seven; Danny is three

Sam and Dean Winchester were partners, in every way imaginable. Part of their success in working together came from the way their personalities naturally complimented one another, but a lot of it had to do with the way they were raised. Moving around the country way they did, the brothers had remained somewhat isolated from the people they encountered. The secret they kept about hunting only magnified that situation, so they grew up as a team, even more so than typical siblings.

Teamwork came in handy, not just for hunting, but for raising a family. They hadn’t gone after supernatural prey much since starting a family, but that didn’t mean their partnership was ended. If anything, in fact, they worked even more closely as they parented their children.

The members of the Winchester household were enjoying an unusual stretch of quiet. The bulk of the day had been spent in a trip to the cities to do Christmas shopping. It had been an exciting day for the boys. So exciting, in fact, that Danny had fallen asleep on the way home. At three years old, Danny usually resisted napping, so it had been an unusual occurrence and one to be savored. Sam and Dean loved their youngest, but he could be rambunctious under the best of circumstances. Hyped up on Christmas cheer and candy canes, he’d been a handful to manage amongst the throngs of people shopping. Michael, at the ripe old age of seven, had managed to stay awake even during the long ride home, but he’d been quite willing to curl up with the dogs and watch a DVD once they got to the house. The last Sam had checked, there’d been a pile of contented boy and dogs on their living room floor.

Sam and Dean had taken advantage of the relative quiet to fix a real dinner. If he made lasagna solo, Dean’s tended to be overloaded with meat and Sam was just as enthusiastic about cheese. Because they worked together, the lasagna they created was balanced. It weighed a ton and would take a long time to cook, but the meat and dairy products in it were relatively evenly proportioned.

While they waited for the lasagna to cook, Sam set the table and Dean worked on the salad. Dean wasn’t particularly fond of greens, but he did like wielding a knife and Sam, although he would blush if forced to admit it, liked to watch him at work with one. Dean was humming while he chopped, stopping once in a while to pop a tidbit in his mouth. Sam was amused too at the song that Dean had chosen. Elton John had come out with his own unique spin on a Christmas favorite and both Sam and Dean loved it. Conservative religious groups were up in arms over “I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Claus,” but for a family like the Winchesters, it was perfect and long overdue.

“So, Sam, did one of our kids suddenly grow two arms on one side of his body and nobody told me?” Dean asked.

“Huh?” Sam wasn’t at his most eloquent when interrupted from Dean-watching.

“Look down, Mr. Observant,” Dean was grinning widely. 

Sam did as he was told and found that he’d placed two forks at the spot that one of the boys usually sat at. Busted. Without admitting any guilt about being distracted, he simply switched the utensils to their proper position and hoped that Dean wouldn’t notice his flush. He should have known better. Dean’s chuckle was a little bit dirty and utterly satisfied.

“DeeDee?” Came a hesitant voice from the kitchen doorway. “DaSa?”

Dean’s expression immediately became chaste. While no prude, Dean tended to tone things down when one of the kids were around. “What’s up, champ?

Michael entered the room and came over to the table. With a solemn expression on his face, he pulled out a chair and sat down. “You know how you said I could ask you anything?”

Sam exchanged a startled glance with his brother. The year before, Michael had been horribly teased at school for having two fathers and no mother. Although they’d known quickly that something was bothering their little boy, it had taken some days for Dean and Sam to convince Michael to confide in them. The situation had been resolved, but afterwards they’d several talks with their son, explaining that he could talk to them anytime about anything. It looked like the boy had understood.

“Absolutely,” Sam answered firmly. He pulled out another chair and sat down, with Dean mirroring his action on the other side of the table. “You can ask us anything you want to.”

Now that he had his fathers’ attention, Michael didn’t seem to know how to get started. He looked down at the table and swung his feet wildly.

“It’s okay, Mikey,” Dean encouraged him. “Just lay it on us.”

Michael looked up. “Penelope Larson says that Santa’s not real.”

That was it? Questions about Santa? Sam was almost giddy; he’d expected something a lot more difficult, like how did Michael’s daddies have babies when men weren’t supposed to. Sam bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out of sheer relief.

“Is that so?” Dean asked. He didn’t seem to be having any trouble keeping a straight face.

“Yeah,” Michael nodded. “And Nathan Olson said she was right. So did Marty Johnson an’ Gail Carlson.”

“And what do you think?” Sam coaxed.

Michael sighed. “I think they’re right. Unless Santa’s got a transport beam or can teleport, there’s no way he get to all those houses in one night.”

“What about magic?” Sam pointed out. “That would help him get the job done.”

“Santa doesn’t have a license from the FAA and Miss Nelson says you have to have a license to fly,” Michael explained solemnly. He adored his school teacher and a lot of his comments of late had started with ‘Miss Nelson says.’ “Besides, Penelope says she found a bunch of wrapped gifts in their basement with her name on them and the tags said that they were from Santa.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other helplessly. In the face of such logic, there really wasn’t much they could say. Sam, for one, no longer found the situation amusing.

“So?” Michael prompted. “Is Santa real?”

The Winchester brothers prided themselves on their honestly with their kids. They had to hide a few of the rougher edges of life as a Winchester, but couldn’t respond to such a straightforward question with anything but the truth.

“No,” Dean admitted. “He’s not.”

“Didn’t think so,” Michael’s triumph was short-lived. “But why?”

Sam’s throat closed at the forlorn tone in his son’s voice. “Why what, Michael?”

“Why did you make stuff up?” Michael asked. He looked from one father to another, eyes pleading.

Sam cleared his throat. “I know you’ve been talking about Christmas a lot at church. What have you learned about the meaning of Christmas?”

“It’s about baby Jesus being born,” Michael immediately answered. 

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “But why do we give each other presents?”

Michael shrugged. “For Jesus’ birthday?”

“That’s right, but it’s more than that,” Dean gently corrected the boy. “Christmas is about family and friends and showing them that we care. Gifts are one way to show that to one another.”

“That’s why it’s not the gift itself that’s important,” Sam interjected. “It’s the thought behind it that matters.”

“And that’s an awful lot for kids to understand,” Dean summarized. “Not a big kid like you, but a little kid like Danny. Little kids understand something like Santa better than they do big ideas.”

Michael’s face screwed up as he thought, but his expression soon smoothed out again as he came to a conclusion. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Sam asked in disbelief. He couldn’t believe Michael was handling the news so well.

“Uh-huh,” Michael reassured him. “Grown-ups tell little kids about Santa ‘cause he’s easy to love and he teaches us to give to one another.”

Sam suddenly felt like he was the child and his son the parent. “Oh.”

Michael turned to him. “So all the lists to Santa?”

“A way to figure out what you wanted for Christmas.” Sam answered.

“And the ‘be good or Santa won’t come?’” Michael’s question was laced with faint outrage.

Dean shrugged and grinned. “Us parents can use every advantage that we’ve got,” he shook a finger at the little boy. “Besides, if you’re naughty, your DaSa and I have the power to convert all of your presents that are toys into boxes full of sox and underwear.”

Michael looked thoughtful. “What happened to the cookies and milk?”

Rubbing his tummy, Dean just grinned. “What do you think?”

“Is that why you said last year that Santa would want beer instead, because he was tired of getting milk at all the other houses?” Michael questioned.

Sam glared at his brother. He still hadn’t forgiven Dean for that one.

“Something like that,” Dean admitted, running his fingers through his hair and looking sheepish.

Michael turned to Sam. “And you ate the carrots we left for Rudolph.”

Dean chuckled and Sam huffed in annoyance. So his eating habits were healthier than Dean’s, there was nothing wrong with that.

“Grown-ups sure go to a lot of trouble,” Michael commented. “You must love us an awful lot.”

Sam swallowed heavily and, from the look on his face, Dean was equally moved by his son’s statement. 

“More than you know,” Dean told him.

It occurred to Sam then why his son wasn’t more upset about learning that Santa wasn’t real. Of all the children in the world, Michael’s abilities allowed him to know exactly the depth of the love behind the ruse.

“Okay,” Michael nodded and got up from the table. “Thanks for telling me.”

“Ah, Michael,” Sam’s voice stopped Michael from leaving the room. “Your brother’s still pretty little.”

“Will you help us keep Santa real for him?” Dean asked.

Michael nodded enthusiastically. “I won’t tell him, promise.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Sam got up and hugged his son. Dean followed suit.

After the little boy left the room, Sam let out a big sigh. “I was kind of hoping he’d believe for a little longer.”

“He’s a smart kid,” Dean replied, although his face looked a little melancholy. “He was bound to figure it out sooner or later.”

Sam sighed. “I was just hoping it’d be later.” He gave his brother a sideways look. “At least Michael’s childhood is better than yours was.”

“Ours,” Dean corrected him. “Better than our childhood, but it wasn’t all bad. There were good times too.”

“Yeah,” Sam walked over to Dean and wrapped his arms around him. “Mostly because of you.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but even as he did, he leaned into the embrace. “There you go again, going all girly on me.” He snorted. “I guess that makes you Mrs. Claus.”

Sam ignored the comment. “You know, we’re raising two great kids. We’re a pretty good parenting team.”

“Who would have thunk it?” Dean’s smile was crooked, but his eyes were full of shy pride.

Sam felt his heart swell. “I tell you what, after the boys go to bed tonight, there’s a piece of mistletoe with your name all over it.”

“Really?” Dean’s voice was a purr for a brief moment, but then it changed. “Damn it.”

“What?” Sam demanded. He wasn’t quite sure how Dean had gone from sexy and eager in his arms, to tense and miffed.

“Danny’s nap,” Dean complained. “He’s not going to want to go to bed until late.”

Sam snorted. He knew exactly what Dean’s problem was, but wanted to torment his brother a little. “So?”

“So, no mistletoe until later,” Dean whined. “A lot later.”

“You’re a big boy, you can wait.” Sam primly told him. “You’re just lucky I don’t have a ‘Do Not Open Until Christmas’ sticker on my underwear.”

“Really? Not until Christmas?” One of Dean’s eyebrows went up. “In that case, I guess I wouldn’t get to wear the Santa hat. You know, just the hat. Nothing else.”

Sam’s breath caught and he felt a flush creep its way up his face. Dean had been watching him closely and chuckled at his brother’s reaction.

“Like that idea, do you, Sammy?” Dean breathed into his ear. “You’re not as vanilla as you let on.”

As Dean sauntered back to his knife and partially chopped veggies, Sam couldn’t help but lick his lips. 

“I think I’ll go wake Danny up,” Sam said, putting the last spoon down and heading for the door. “We don’t want him to sleep too long; he’ll be up half the night.”

“Good idea, Sammy,” Dean complimented him. “You go do that.”

Sam tried not to be too obvious as he hurried, but from the sound of the snort Dean uttered, he was unsuccessful. That was okay. It was the season to be nice instead of naughty, but when Dean Winchester was naughty, it was very nice indeed.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 12-05-07


	79. Snow Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is six; Danny is two

“Tell me again why we decided to live in Minnesota.”

Sam grunted as he hefted the shovel full of snow he’d just scooped up. After he’d tossed it onto the pile, he leaned against his shovel as he addressed his brother. “Because we wanted to raise our kids with Midwest values and it’s a liberal state where we can live together as a gay couple without too many problems.”

Dean’s cheeks were red from the cold as he glared back at Sam. “And we couldn’t find a place to do that where we won’t freeze our balls off?” He kicked at the snow in front of him. “Or have them buried in white stuff?”

“I tried to get you to by a snow blower,” Sam replied calmly as he resumed shoveling.

“Snow blowers are for pussies,” Dean grumbled as he bent to do the same.

Sam grinned. “You could always rig a plow onto the front of the Impala.”

If Dean had been glaring before, the expression he wore after Sam’s suggestion was a death scowl. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

They had a long driveway and it was the first serious snow of the season. Sam had a feeling that Dean’s opinion of snow blowers would improve, but for the moment Sam didn’t mind shoveling. It felt good, to be taking care of their own property and not something rented or temporary.

“DeeDee, DaSa, look at me!”

Sam and Dean weren’t working on the driveway by themselves; they had two able helpers. Michael was six and had his own child-size shovel. Danny was two and had insisted on having one of his own, so Dean had dug out the miniature shovel that they kept in the trunk of the Impala. The Winchesters might be new to permanent residency in Minnesota, but they’d been traveling through the upper Midwest for years and kept a shovel in the car for emergencies. It was just Danny’s size. The boys weren’t actually removing any snow, more just shoving it around, but they were having fun.

“Good job, Mikey,” Dean complemented him. The boy had a shovel-full and was diligently trying to carry it to the edge of the driveway. 

Dean looked up at the sky, which was continuing to belch snowflakes out at them. “You know what? This is crazy. It’s just going to snow more. Why bother to shovel until it’s done?”

“Because it’s only going to get deeper,” Sam answered, continuing to work. “Then it’ll be even harder to shovel.”

“But maybe the wind’ll blow it off,” Dean said in a hopeful tone.

Sam looked up. The boys had dropped their shovels and were chasing each other through the yard. At least, Danny was trying to run, but the snow came up so high that he kept falling. Each time he did, though, the toddler laughed instead of cried. As Sam watched, Michael helped his brother up and brushed him off before resuming the chase again.

How long had it been, Sam reflected, since either he or Dean had played in the snow?

“Boys,” Sam said sternly as he dropped his shovel. “Look at me.”

Not only did Michael and Danny watch, but Sam’s tone had caught Dean’s attention. With three sets of eyes on him, Sam stalked over to the yard, where the snow was deepest. He turned to his audience and, grinning suddenly, flopped onto his back. He immediately started moving his arms and his legs. “This is how you make a snow angel.”

“Me too!” Danny yelled. He trotted over to Sam and threw himself onto the ground and started making one. So did Michael.

Sam heard the crunching of snow under boots as Dean approached. He looked up to see his brother leaning over him.

“You are such a dork,” Dean commented.

“Yeah,” Sam didn’t try to deny it. “But, like you said, maybe the wind will blow it.”

“Uh-huh.” 

Dean squatted down and leaned forward. Sam was expecting a kiss, but at the last minute, Dean shoved a handful of snow down the front of Sam’s coat.

“Argh!” Sam jumped up and frantically batted at his clothes, trying to get the cold stuff away from his warm body.

“DeeDee,” Michael said, eyes wide. “You dance good.”

“Thanks, Michael,” Sam managed to reply politely. He turned to his brother, his expression grim, but his eyes dancing with mischief. “You do realize that this means war, right?”

Dean’s grin was so bright that Sam was surprised that it didn’t melt the snow around him. “Bring it on, Angel Boy.”

Sam stood still for a moment and then, with a yell, attacked. “Get him, boys!”

The resulting melee lasted about an hour. At first it was Sam and the children against Dean, but then Danny switched sides and it was two against two for a while. It was part snowball fight and part hand-to-hand combat. Eventually, though, Sam ended up on his back again, with Dean sitting on his pelvis, Michael on his legs, and Danny on his chest.

“Give up?” Dean taunted.

“I might be willing to negotiate,” Sam laughed. 

“Negotiate?” Dean scoffed. He bounced lightly on top of Sam. “Looks to me like we hold all the cards. Right, boys?”

“Yeah!” Both children yelled, although Sam had a feeling that Danny, at least, had no idea what he was agreeing to.

“Okay, what are your terms?” Sam conceded. Dean was heavy, although the boys’ weight was negotiable. Worse yet, he had to pee.

“Hot chocolate,” Dean said promptly. “With real marshmallows, not those freeze-dried things that come in the mix.”

“Cookies!” Michael added.

“Yeah!” Danny yelled.

“All right, all right,” Sam gave in. It was far enough away from dinner that he could agree to cookies without worrying about ruining the boys’ appetites. Besides, they’d all just had quite a work-out. “Cookies and hot chocolate it is.”

The family tramped inside. Dean took care of stripping the boys of their outdoor gear, while Sam fixed the drinks and a plate of cookies. Once Dean started a fire in the fireplace, it was nice and cozy. The boys barely finished their snack, though, before their eyes started drooping.

“Okay, naptime,” Sam declared. 

Danny still napped regularly, but Michael didn’t and he protested.

“I don’t want to,” Michael whined. “Big kids don’t nap.”

“Well, you’re wrong, champ,” Dean stated. “Because your DaSa and I are going to take one too.”

Michael looked at both of them suspiciously. “You are?”

“Absolutely,” Sam agreed. “We had a busy time outside and I’m all tuckered out.”

“Okay. . .” the little boy reluctantly gave in. His steps, as he went upstairs, were heavy, but Sam didn’t call him on it. The playing in the snow had tired the child out.

It didn’t take Sam long to settle the boys in their beds. As he did, he heard the phone ring, but Dean obviously got it since it only rang once. By the time he came back downstairs, Dean’s conversation was over and his brother was waiting for him on the floor in front of the fireplace.

“They go down okay?” Dean lifted his head to ask as Sam entered the room. 

“Oh, yeah,” Sam told him with a smile. “Wading through all that snow wore them out. Both of them were out like a light.”

“I know the feeling,” Dean yawned. “Dad called. He got a blade put on his truck. Said that we shouldn’t shovel, he’ll plow us out later.”

Their newly married father had followed them to Minnesota, finding a job that gave him the flexibility to hunt, but provided some income. Liddy did daycare at the university, but money from plowing other people out would probably be welcome, even if John’s schedule didn’t allow him to do it on a regular basis. 

“Good,” Sam lowered himself to the floor, grateful that they had thick carpeting in the family room. “Believe it or not, shoveling snow isn’t exactly my favorite activity in the world.”

“I know what is,” Dean waggled his eyebrows. “But I’m too tired.”

Not only had the snow play physically exhausted them, but the floor of the family room was too exposed for any amorous activity, given that the boys could come down from their naps at any moment. Sam didn’t really care. Trading lazy, hot chocolate flavored kisses with Dean had its own appeal.

“Mmmmm,” Dean sighed as he curled himself around Sam. “This is nice.”

“It is,” Sam agreed as he played with the hair at the back of Dean’s neck. “And, Dean? This is the reason why we moved to Minnesota.”

Sam didn’t just mean the post-snow satiation, but the whole package. The family together, safe, happy and healthy. 

“Yeah, I know,” Dean agreed, half asleep himself. “Why would we have considered living anywhere else?”

Outside, the wind blew harder, although it was in perfect agreement.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted January 22, 2008


	80. Payback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is not quite four, Danny isn't born yet.

It had been years since Dean Winchester had let a woman wrap him around her little finger. Far from being jealous, Sam leaned against the doorframe of the wooden gazebo and settled in to watch the show. 

“But Uncle Deanie, I want Michael to play tea party with me.”

Dean sat back on his haunches as Dana Scully’s three year-old daughter, Gretchen, turned her big blue eyes on him. Gretchen had inherited her mother’s red hair and, apparently, her strength of will.

“I know you do, honey,” Dean told the little girl. “But Mikey’s a boy and, well, boys don’t like to play tea party. I bet he’d play ball with you or share one of his trucks with you.”

Gretchen stamped her little foot. “But I don’t wanna play ball or trucks. I wanna play tea party.” Those big blue eyes filled up with tears. “Nobody wants to play with me.”

The Winchesters were once again babysitting for the Scully-Skinner-Mulder-Krychek household. Dana was due to give birth to the family’s third daughter in a couple of months and her husbands had spirited her away for a much-needed long weekend. Sam and Dean had agreed to watch the foursome’s two daughters and it was proving to be a challenge.

Sam and Dean had thought that Michael and Gretchen would play together, since they were close in age, while they watched baby Hannah, who was about 18 months old. The brothers hadn’t accounted for the difference between boys and girls, though. Michael had been pretty cooperative, but the not quite four year-old had had enough of playing with stuffed animals. It was a nice day and they were all outside, but when Gretchen had started setting up a tea table near the gazebo, Michael had wandered off to play with his dog, Xena.

“Maybe Hannah would play with you,” Dean suggested, twitching as the tears started to fall out of Gretchen’s eyes and down her cheeks. Dean never could handle a woman crying, no matter what age that woman happened to be.

“Hannah’s a baby,” Gretchen wailed. “I’m tired of baby games.”

It was a moot point anyway. Sam was holding Hannah and swaying from side to side, in the process of getting her settled for her nap. Gretchen probably needed one too, but since Michael didn’t nap anymore, the brothers knew it was pointless to try and get the little girl to take one. 

Dean shot Sam an exasperated look. “I could use a little help here, Sammy.”

An idea had been growing as Sam watched the tempest, of how to deal with the situation. Dean wasn’t going to like it, but that wasn’t a problem. In fact, Dean’s probable reaction was what catapulted the idea from being good to being sheer genius.

“I’m sure that Uncle Dean would be happy to play tea party with you,” Sam suggested. “In fact, I bet he’d be better at it than Michael or Hannah.”

Gretchen squealed and clapped her hands together. “Come on, Uncle Deanie, play tea party with me.” She grabbed Dean’s hand and started tugging him towards the nearby table. 

“Thanks a lot, Sam.” Dean shot a glare at his brother. “You are so not getting any. . . .” he glanced down at the little girl and abruptly modified his words to spell what he’d been about to say, “N-O-O-K-I-E for a whole year.”

Sam chuckled, not impressed by the threat.

“Uncle Deanie,” Gretchen tugged at Dean’s hand, her little face scrunched up in thought. “I think you spelled that wrong. C is for cookie.”

The look on Dean’s face was priceless as he realized that he might have to explain to Walter Skinner why he’d, however obliquely or accidentally, been referring to sex in his daughter’s presence. As for Sam, he was caught between horror that Gretchen had figured it out and amazement that she’d known what Dean was spelling. 

“That’s right, honey,” Dean choked out. “I meant that Uncle Sam won’t get a cookie for a year.” He stabbed a finger at Sam, who was choking back laughter. “You hear that? You’re not getting your hand into my cookie jar for a whole year.”

“Don’t be mean, Uncle Deanie,” Gretchen put her hands on her hips as she chastised him. “You sit next to Mr. Hoppy.” She leaned forward and whispered, “but you might have to hold your nose. Hannah spit up on him last week and Daddy hasn’t washed him yet.”

Sam’s whole body was shaking in his effort to hold his laughter in, so badly so that he was worried that he’d wake Hannah, who’d finally drifted off. As Gretchen was directing Dean to the proper chair, Sam took the baby inside the house and put her down for her nap. As he came back through the kitchen, he grabbed the baby monitor unit, along with his camera.

A whole lifetime of hunting experience came into play as Sam snuck up on the tea party. With the bright outdoor sunshine, he was able to snap several photos without a flash alerting Dean to what was going on. Dean had been trained to be observant, though, and so Sam didn’t get too close before his brother spotted him.

“Just remember, Sam,” Dean gritted out between clenched teeth. “That payback’s a bi-. . . .” he glanced at Gretchen’s shining face and once again changed what he was going to say. “A really, really bad thing.”

“Uncle Deanie, you’re not doing it right.” Gretchen scolded him. “Your pinkie is supposed to be up, like this.”

With Dean’s potential retaliation hampered by the child’s presence, he could do nothing else but play along with the little girl. While Sam took shot after shot with the digital camera, Dean sat at the petite play table, his knees almost to his ears in the tiny pink chair, trying to balance a delicate teacup in his hand while making polite conversation with a smelly stuffed rabbit. 

All while keeping his pinky finger in the air.

Thankfully for Dean, Gretchen was only three years old and had a short attention span. Michael began a game of keep-away with Xena and soon his happy giggles, partnered with Xena’s barking, distracted her. As soon as she declared the party over and ran to join the fun, Dean made his escape.

“You are so dead,” he growled.

“Temper, temper,” Sam laughed as he backed away. “Remember, there are small children present.”

“And one big kid, who’s about to get his ass handed to him,” Dean threatened, the kids being safely out of earshot.

“Ah, but I’ve already been punished,” Sam reminded him. “No cookies, remember?” 

Dean growled again and took a step forward. Sam was no coward, but also no fool. “I think I hear the baby,” Sam claimed as he retreated into the house.

Someone had to stay outside with Michael and Gretchen, so Dean was stuck. Sam made use of the alone time. He’d kept his laptop powered up, so it was short work to download the photos and email some of them to John, Bobby and Ash. He loved Dean more than life itself, but some images were just too precious to keep to himself.

Just as Sam hit the ‘send’ button for the last time, he heard a noise behind him.

“Oh, Uncle Sam-mmy. . . .” Dean called, sounding far too cheerful for Sam’s peace of mind. 

Sam turned slowly, to find Dean standing at the back door, with little Gretchen right beside him. Apparently her short attention span had struck again and playing with the dog had paled. She was carrying a bright pink purse, which was overflowing with lots of sparkly things.

“Yes,” Sam answered warily. This could not be good.

“Gretchen here would like to play hair salon, isn’t that right, Gretchen?” Dean proclaimed. Next to him, Gretchen was beaming from ear to ear as she bopped her head up and down enthusiastically. “And since Michael doesn’t want to play hair salon and I have short hair, guess who that leaves to play it with her?”

Gretchen giggled. “You, Uncle Sammy! Uncle Deanie says you’re gonna play hair salon with me.”

There was nothing that Sam could say, not after setting Dean up to participate with the tea party. With a mounting sense of doom, he slowly stood and walked towards them. Without a word, he handed off the baby monitor to his brother.

“Uncle Sammy’s gonna be so pretty,” Gretchen giggled as she grabbed his hand and started tugging him toward the play table. “I’s going to put in pigtails and ribbons and. . . . ooooh,” she squealed. “Mommy bought me glitter polish too.”

“Don’t worry, Sam,” Dean assured his brother as he caught up to them. He’d stopped only long enough to grab the camera that Sam had left behind. “I’ll make sure we have plenty of pictures.”

Payback, Sam discovered as he sat himself down in a chair that was only big enough to hold one of his cheeks, really was a bitch. Even if, at the moment, it was personified by a three year-old wielding glitter nail polish.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted February 29, 2008


	81. Demon Fight, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I never intended to write the Winchester's confrontation with the demon in the Baby Steps universe, although it was referred to several times. I was reluctant mostly because action sequences are not my forte, but I eventually had enough requests for it that I decided to give it a try. When I finally got into it, though, I realized another reason I’d been putting it off - continuity. Since I’d never intended “Baby Steps” to go on for so long, I didn’t put my normal thought into how it fit into Supernatural canon. Honestly, I’m still not too sure. Originally, I had in mind that Dean’s pregnancy occurred in Season One, but when I added the Gordon Walker storyline into it, that placed it more in Season Two. The best I can figure out is that if you take the first three quarters of Season One and mash it together with the first half of Season Two (with the exception of Sam and Dean not discovering the Roadhouse), that’s when Baby Steps started. Hopefully that's not too confusing.

Sam Winchester loved coming home from work. Even though he and Dean were employed at the same construction company, they weren’t always put on the same crew and, even when they were together, they had to go to great lengths to avoid acting like a couple. On the way home, though, all of that was done with. They could talk about their day with the Impala’s engine providing a soothing background noise and touch each other without fear of discovery. 

The construction work was physical, but it caused the good type of tired and Sam found a great deal of satisfaction in building something. So much of their days as hunters had involved killing things. Evil sons of bitches, yes, but it still had been death that the Winchesters dealt out. Sam had a feeling that, at some point, he’d want to go back to school, but for the time being, working with his hands was fulfilling.

By far, though, the best part of coming home was picking Michael up at daycare.

“How’s our boy?” Dean asked as they walked into Liddy’s house. Both brothers always came in when they picked Michael up, having developed a deep affection for the woman in the short months since they'd met her.

“Sweet as always,” Liddy assured the couple as she walked over to greet them. She was carrying Michael and, as he always did, the infant squealed in excitement as he caught sight of his fathers.

Dean reached for their son and swung him into his arms. Sam wasn’t worried about the seemingly casual way his brother handled the baby. At five months of age, Michael was a sturdy infant and, besides, Dean was always extremely careful with the child, no matter how it appeared.

“Way to go, Mikey,” Dean told his son, with a wink towards Liddy. “What am I always telling you? If you’re good to the ladies, they’ll be good to you.”

Sam didn’t even bother to roll his eyes, long used to Dean’s antics. He just leaned over and kissed Michael, blowing a raspberry on the infant’s neck before pulling away.

“Well, if he grows up to be half the charmer his daddy is, I doubt he’ll have any trouble,” Liddy gently teased. Since Dean’s hands were full of baby, she gave the sheet detailing Michael’s activities for the day to Sam.

“Which daddy?” Dean asked, shamelessly.

“Oh, either one of you,” Liddy laughed, blushing. 

After a little more bantering, the three Winchesters were out of the house and walking towards the Impala. Sam smirked as Dean leaned closer, trying to get a peek at the paper Sam was holding.

“If you trip over your own two feet while holding the baby, you’ll feel guilty,” Sam pointed out. 

Dean huffed, offended. “I’d never drop Mikey, Sam, you know that.”

Actually, Sam did know that, but he didn’t budge. “Trade.”

“Holy crap, Sam,” Dean rolled his eyes. “If you wanted to hold the baby, just say so. No need to use your feminine wiles on me.”

Sam didn’t answer, just held out his hands for Michael. The transfer went without a hitch and soon Sam was bouncing Michael on his hip. As soon as he got a good look at the sheet Liddy had sent home with them, Dean let out a whoop. His brother’s reaction wasn’t entirely unexpected and Sam could have ignored it, if not for the hand pump that went with it.

“Dean, that is just juvenile.”

“Says you,” Dean retorted. He was happily looking at the daycare sheet, where Sam had already seen that Liddy had reported that she’d changed a poopy diaper. Since Michael didn’t have a lot of those during a 24 hour period, the fact that Liddy had dealt with one meant that the Winchesters’ evening was more likely to be poop-free. 

“I don’t mind changing messy, stinky diapers, but I also have absolutely no problem leaving them to the professional.” Dean reached over and tickled the baby. “Good boy, Mikey.”

Since Sam was well aware that Dean would do anything for Michael and had yet to shy away from the messiest of diapers, he didn’t tease his brother anymore. Within a few minutes, all three Winchesters were in their designated spots in the Impala and headed the short distance towards the house they rented.

“Dad’s here,” Dean commented as he pulled into the driveway.

John Winchester had taken to being a grandfather like a baby duck took to water. The brothers never had found out why he’d pulled a disappearing act on them, that year they’d spent after Sam lost Jessica, trying to find him. After Michael’s birth, John had become a lot more domestic. He still hunted, but stayed in close contact and didn’t let more than a week go by without a visit. Although they hadn’t been expecting him, it was no true surprise to see his truck in front of their house.

Sam grinned as he opened the back door of the Impala to get Michael out of his car seat. “Grandpa’s here. Again. Do you know how lucky you are?”

Michael smiled back and grabbed his feet, gurgling and clearly impressed with his own prowess.

“Get a move on, Sammy,” Dean warned him. “You know how impatient Dad gets when he hasn’t seen Mikey for a couple of days.”

It had been closer to a couple of weeks since John had been by, which had been a little worrisome for both of them. They’d suspected that their father had started to downplay his hunting experiences, seeming to approve of them dropping out of the lifestyle while Michael was so young. In stark contrast to his disappearing act earlier, though, he’d almost been hovering since learning of Dean’s pregnancy and it hadn’t stopped once Michael had been born. Until the last couple of weeks, when he’d been absent.

John opened the door as they approached. “Pizza’s on the way. How have you boys been?” His comment included all three of the younger Winchesters, but his eyes were only on Michael.

“Good, good,” Dean commented. “You look like a couple of miles of bad road, though.”

It was true, John did look a little rough around the edges. There were no visible injuries, but he was clearly exhausted.

“You know that saying, it’s not the years, it’s the mileage,” their father grinned as he reached for his grandson. “Mikey, you keeping your papas in line?”

John reached for his grandson, but instead of Michael going happily into his arms, the baby instead pulled away. 

“Mikey?” John asked, trying again. Michael just whimpered and buried his face into Sam’s chest.

“Huh,” Sam bounced a little, hoping the movement would help calm his son. “He’s never done that before.”

Their father shrugged, trying his best to look nonchalant and not entirely succeeding. “Kids go through a clingy stage, that’s all it is.”

Sam exchanged worried glances with Dean, but they didn’t question their dad’s theory. As they went into the house, John changed the subject, telling the details about the hunts he’d recently been on. Sam only listened with half an ear, distracted by Michael’s unusual behavior. As time went by and dinner came and went, Michael gradually became more accepting of his grandfather’s presence. He wasn’t quite his normal happy self by bedtime, but he allowed John to kiss him goodnight.

It was Dean’s turn to get Michael settled for the night, so as his brother was busy with that, Sam started in on cleaning up the kitchen and getting their lunches ready for the next day. John pitched in and, as they worked, it occurred to Sam that his father was being unusually reserved. He glanced over at the other man and noticed again how haggard he looked.

“Dad, is everything all right?” Sam asked, turning away from the sink to give his father his complete attention.

John sat heavily at the kitchen table. “No.”

Sam gulped. The shortness of the answer, combined with his dad’s complete lack of dissembling, was scary. “What is it?”

“Let’s wait for your brother to finish with the baby,” John told him. “I don’t want to have to go over this twice.”

It was tempting to try and coax more out of him, but Sam knew better. Once John Winchester made up his mind about something, nothing short of Armageddon would make him change it. Nodding shortly, Sam returned to his chores. He made sure to finish quickly; something told Sam that once John gave his news, normal activities wouldn’t be high on the priority list. When he finished, Sam sat down at the table across from his father. Neither of them attempted to make small talk.

It seemed to take a long time, but eventually Dean came back to the kitchen. “Well, he’s finally down, although he’s damn fussy. No temp, though. Maybe he’s teething. . . .” Dean broke off as the tension in the room became apparent. “What’s wrong? You two aren’t pitching hissies at each other again, are you?”

“Dad has something he wants to tell us,” Sam stated quietly. “It’s bad enough that he didn’t want to have to say it twice.”

Without saying another word, Dean took the chair next to Sam. Underneath the table, his hand fumbled for Sam’s and Sam took it gratefully. They were more open with their affection in front of their father than they had been in the beginning, but the bleak look on the man’s face was intimidating.

John cleared his throat. “I found out more about the demon that killed your mother — and Jessica,” he stated without any preamble to soften the blow. “In fact, I knew last year, but Dean getting pregnant put it on the back burner for a while.”

By that statement, their father showed how much he’d changed. There was a time when nothing would have thrown him off that particular hunt.

“What?” Dean asked, leaning forward without letting go of Sam’s hand. “What is it?”

“The demon’s come out of hiding,” John told them. “And it’s not some low level demon like Bobby specializes in, either, but one of the upper level demons. A powerful, evil son of a bitch.”

Sam licked his lips. “What do we do now?”

Their father sighed. “We’ve got to kill it. Not just send it back to hell, but actually kill it.”

His dad’s declaration stirred Sam’s anger. “At what cost, Dad? I want vengeance as much as you do, but with Michael, the stakes are higher now. We go after this thing, people could end up getting killed. I want Michael growing up with his family intact; that’s worth more to me than vengeance.”

“That’s just it, Sammy.” For once, Sam disagreeing with him seemed to make John sad instead of angry. “It’s because of Michael that killing it’s a necessity. Not for vengeance, but to protect him.”

Dean’s grip on Sam’s hand tightened. “Protecting Mikey? What aren’t you telling us, Dad?”

John rubbed his hand across his face. “I’ve been studying what happened in Lawrence all those years ago and I finally found a pattern. Ours wasn’t the only family hit; there are other families all over the country.”

“What kind of pattern?” Dean asked tensely. 

“After a series of signs, like cattle deaths, temperature fluctuations and electrical storms,” his father explained, “a family in the area has a mysterious fire. The families themselves fit into all sorts of demographics. Some are rich, but some are poor. Some are traditional Mom, Dad and kids and others might just be a single mom with a baby, but in all of them, there are two common denominators. One, the mother dies and, two, the family includes a baby that turns six months old on the night of the fire.”

Sam felt something click into place. Despite Dean’s reassurances, he’d always known that what happened to his mother and Jessica was his fault. “Why? What’s special about these particular kids? Why our family?” He tore his hand from Dean’s and got up to pace. “Is it because I have visions?”

Dean started to get up too, but John waved him back into his chair. Instead, he got up himself and put his hands on Sam’s shoulders, stopping his frantic movement.

“I don’t know, son,” John admitted. “I don’t know if we were targeted because of your abilities or if the demon did something to you to cause them.” His voice was gentle as he continued. “I do know that you were a baby; nothing was your fault, Sammy. You hear me? Nothing was your fault.”

Sam snorted. “Well, it sure doesn’t feel that way.”

Dean left his seat and joined them. “Listen to him for once, Sam. I’ve been telling you all along that you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Tell that to Mom,” Sam retorted. “Tell that to Jessica.”

“Are you going to wallow in self pity or are you going to hear the rest of what I have to say?” John asked impatiently, showing the tough love that Sam was used to from his childhood.

“C’mon, Sammy,” Dean cajoled, trying to lead Sam back to the kitchen table. “Let’s hear the man out.”

Reluctantly, Sam allowed himself to be brought back to the table. He sat gingerly and, along with Dean, looked at their father silently.

“Like I said, the demon attacked a number of families,” John reiterated. “All of them with small infants.”

“Like Max Miller,” Sam interjected. He’d wondered at the time at the similarities between the two of them and now it started to make sense. “And Ava.”

“Do all of the children have powers like Sam, Max and Ava?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know,” John admitted. “I’ve only been able to confirm a few of them. There was a kid in Indiana that seemed to be able electrocute people. You know the one I mean, the boy that Gordon Walker killed.”

Sam nodded. He’d seen to it that Gordon went to jail for that crime. “I remember.”

“I’ve tracked down a few others since then,” their father told them. “There’s a goth girl that kills with a touch and a military man that’s unnaturally strong.”

Dean and Sam exchanged quick glances, each mentally adding Andy Gallagher to the total. They’d never gotten around to telling their dad about him and his twin, knowing that John Winchester would not have agreed with their choice to let Andy go his own way. Andy wasn’t a bad sort of person, despite the uses he’d been putting his power to before meeting the Winchesters.

“Sounds like this demon is building an army,” Dean scowled as he made the comment. “But it has to know that Sam, at least, would die before joining.”

John looked down at the table briefly before looking up to meet his youngest son’s eyes. “It doesn’t want you to join its army, Sam. It wants you to lead it.”

“What?” Sam stood up and would have paced again, but Dean quickly reached out and grabbed his hand. Sam let his brother tug him down until he was once again seated in his chair. “You know I’d never do that.”

“I know,” his father answered quietly. He smiled faintly. “But the demon doesn’t know you very well and has no idea how stubborn you are, the way Dean and I do.” His smile faded. “Besides, I think that’s why it targeted so many special children, so it would have a choice, when the time came.”

“Is that why you’re telling us all of this now?” Dean asked. He was pale, but composed. “Is the time coming?”

John shrugged. “I don’t know. What I’m more concerned about at the moment is the fact that Michael will be turning six months old in three weeks.”

Sam turned to Dean and saw the same blank look of horror in his brother eyes. “Dad?”

“All of the special children I’ve been able to locate are roughly the same age,” John stated. “All of you started exhibiting powers at about the same time, but you’re the only one that’s had a child of your own.”

Dean shook his head in denial. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

“You know better, son,” John chided him. “Besides, don’t you pay attention to your own local paper?”

Unfortunately, both of them did. The habit of skimming the media for supernatural phenomenon was far too ingrained not to. In fact, they’d talked just a couple of days ago about the rash of dead cattle that had been discovered locally.

“You think it’s coming for Mikey,” Dean theorized. His lips were practically bloodless, but his expression was determined.

John spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “I think that the fact that one of the children the demon marked has a child of his own would be too much for it to pass up. Yes, I think it’s coming here and soon too.”

“We won’t let it have Michael,” Sam declared with a confidence he wasn’t feeling. “I don’t care if it alters the children it targets or if they already have powers. It’s not coming near our son.”

“It doesn’t appear to harm the children, at least not in any way that’s easy to see,” John pointed out gently. His gaze turned to Dean. “But it kills the mothers.”

Sam felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. “Dean. . . .”

His brother, on the other hand, seemed unruffled by his father’s observation. “Don’t worry about it, Sammy. Dad said he’s known about this for over a year. By now he’s got a plan for handing this demon its ass on a plate.” He addressed his father confidently. “How do we kill it, Dad?”

John closed his eyes briefly before meeting each son’s gaze in turn. “I haven’t the slightest idea,” he admitted.

Both brothers blinked in surprise.

“What do you mean, you don’t know how to kill it?” Sam’s voice was strident with stress. He didn’t have the unshakable faith in John Winchester that Dean did, but it had never occurred to him that their father could be stumped, especially not on something so important. “Why the hell not?”

“What do you think I’ve been doing this past year?” John snapped back. “Every hunt I’ve been on; every contact I know of, I’ve been looking for the same thing. A way to kill this son of a bitch. I’ve got nothing.”

Sam deflated. “So, what? We just sit back and watch Dean die?”

“No, we don’t,” his father growled. “We’re Winchesters; we don’t give up.”

“But it doesn’t look too good, does it?” Dean’s voice was subdued. “Mikey’ll be okay, though, right? Even if it comes for me.”

“I don’t know that either,” John’s expression as he returned Dean’s gaze was grim. “I know it didn’t kill Sam or any of the other special children; I just don’t know what it did to them or what it’s got planned for them.”

Dean straightened in his chair. “But they’re alive and that counts for something.” He turned to Sam and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Sammy.”

“How can you say that?” Sam demanded, shrugging off the comfort Dean was trying to give. “We don’t know that.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Dean shrugged. “We always do.”

Sam was speechless at Dean’s nonchalant attitude. Before he could find something to say, however, the sound of Michael’s crying was audible from down the hall.

“I’ll get him,” Dean quickly rose and was gone before Sam or their father could move.

“Sam,” his dad reached across the table to grip Sam’s wrist. “Dean’s right; we’ll figure it out. Believe me when I say that I will not just sit back and let Dean die.” He looked up as Michael’s cries tapered off. “Or let some demon do God knows what to my grandson.”

“But you’ve been looking for a year, you said,” Sam pointed out. “And there’s only three weeks left.”

“I’ve called in the cavalry, son,” John assured him. “We Winchesters tend to be lone wolves, but that’s not going to work here.”

Sam snorted. “We don’t exactly have an army of hunters, Dad.”

John’s smile was sad. “I know you don’t believe me, Sam, but I did try to protect the two of you when you were growing up.” Sam’s expression must have reflected his disbelief, because John continued. “Gordon Walker wasn’t the only crazy man on a mission out there. I only exposed you and Dean to the hunters that I trusted. Bobby. Jim. Caleb. Joshua. Hell, I never even introduced you to Missouri; you had to find her on your own.” He winced. “Caught a world of hurt over that, let me tell you. That woman’s got a sharp tongue on her.”

“What are you saying, Dad?” Sam asked, confused. “That there is an army of hunters?”

John shook his head. “Nothing so organized as an army, but there are more of them than you know and I’ve called them all in.” He shrugged. “The widow of an old friend of mine runs a roadhouse that a lot of hunters use. The hunters I don’t know, she does. Between me and Ellen, we got the word out to everyone.”

“And what did you tell them?” Sam wasn’t entirely rocked by the revelation that his father had kept something hidden from them about the hunting world. The existence of Gordon Walker had been a pretty big clue about that.

“I told them that we needed help; that the biggest bad that I’d ever heard of was gunning for my family and that I couldn’t handle it alone,” John stated bluntly. “And I begged anyone who would listen to join the fight.”

Sam was stunned. His father was a proud man and to plead for assistance must have been a humbling experience. John had obviously done it, though, and from the look in his eyes, had no regrets.

“Do you think they’ll come?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah, I do,” his father assured him. “Not all of them, but most people who hunt do it because someone they loved was hurt or killed by some evil son of a bitch. Hunters aren’t a tight-knit bunch, but we watch each other’s backs. They’ll come.” 

Sam let out a shaky sigh. “Do you think one of them will know how to destroy the demon?”

His father shrugged. “I don’t know. They’ve been told what we’re up against, though, and to bring any spell or weapon that they think has a snowball’s chance of working.” John cleared his throat. “The important thing is Sammy, we’re not alone and Dean’s right, we’ll figure this out.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Sam tried to smile. “I know you’re doing your best. Now, if you don’t mind, I think I want to go help Dean with Michael.”

John nodded and sat back in his chair, seeming to realize that he’d just laid a lot of information on his son and that Sam needed some time to adjust to it all. Sam was glad that his father didn’t try to hang on to him. The fact that other hunters were on the way to help was a reassurance, but what Sam needed at the moment was to be with his brother and their son.

Michael’s room had a nightlight, so Sam was easily able to see into the room when he entered. Not that he really needed to. There was no such thing as a wimpy glider-style rocker for the Winchesters; Dean had insisted on an old fashioned wooden one. Sam had picked one up at a used furniture store and refinished it while Dean was still pregnant. He could hear the creak-creak sound it made as Dean rocked their son. 

Whatever had woken Michael, it hadn’t taken Dean long to settle him. The baby was asleep in Dean’s arms, but Dean didn’t appear to be in any hurry to put Michael back in his crib. Crossing the room, Sam knelt next to them and Dean’s rocking slowly came to a stop. Sam gently kissed the top of Michael’s head.

“I don’t want to die, Sammy,” Dean stated quietly. “But as long as the demon doesn’t get Mikey, I’m okay with it.”

“You’re not going to die,” Sam promised him. “Dad and I won’t let you.”

“I’m just sayin’,” Dean’s voice was firm. “That if it’s a choice between saving me and saving Mikey, you choose Mikey.”

“Dean. . . .”

“Don’t, Sammy.” Dean’s voice was implacable. “Don’t tell me that you wouldn’t say the exact same thing if you were in my place.”

Since that was the truth, Sam didn’t argue. “All right.” He laid his head on Dean’s thigh, feeling both the warmth of his brother and the warmth of their son. Dean’s hand came down and his finger’s tangled in Sam’s hair.

Silently, Sam made a promise. There would be no choice, because he would find a way to save both of them.

~to be continued in Demon Fight, part 2~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 4/23/2008


	82. Demon Fight, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is five months old.

Predictably, Bobby Singer was the first hunter to show up on the Winchesters’ doorstep. In fact, his truck rattled its way up their driveway the day after John’s alarming revelation. Both brothers were home, the importance of a daily job paling in comparison with the knowledge that a demon would shortly be paying them a visit. Their father, on the other hand, was gone on a run to the store for ‘supplies.’ From the dark tone John had used when he announced where he was going, Dean figured it wasn’t a grocery store his father was visiting.

“Hey, look what the cat dragged in,” Dean quipped as he let Bobby into the house.

“You be nice or I’ll take these back,” Bobby was carrying two large take-out cups of coffee. At Dean’s greeting, he pretended to turn away with them, but Dean stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“No need to be hasty there, Bobby.” Dean backed off, eyes on the coffee.

“That’s what I thought,” Bobby chuckled. He handed one cup to Dean and the other to Sam. “Drink up, boys.”

Bobby had splurged for the good stuff, something their budget didn’t allow for much anymore. Dean watched while Sam took a sip and closed his eyes in appreciation. A moment later and he was doing the same. Bobby nodded in satisfaction before bending down to pick up Michael.

Unlike with John, Michael had no fear of Bobby. He went willingly enough into the older hunter’s arms after Bobby greeted his fathers. Michael immediately grabbed for Bobby’s beard, causing the gruff man to wince.

“Good thing you’re such a cute little pooper,” Bobby told the baby as he extricated his facial hair from the infant’s grip. “Far too cute to be related to these yahoos, especially the ornery cuss that birthed you.”

“Michael, stop that,” Sam hastily put his coffee down and reached for the baby, clearly embarrassed.

Bobby turned his body, preventing Sam from taking his son. “Don’t worry about it. You used to do the same thing.”

“I did?” Sam stopped cold in his tracks, looking to Dean for confirmation.

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. He grinned as he remembered. “That’s why Dad didn’t grow a beard until you were older.”

“He’s got one now,” Sam pointed out.

Dean shrugged and then drained the rest of his coffee. “I guess having a grandkid yanking on your chin is okay.” He turned his attention to Bobby and cleared his throat. “Um, Bobby. Thanks. For coming out here, I mean.”

It was awkward, but Bobby knew what Dean was trying to say. “That bastard ain’t gettin’ this kid.” Equally self-conscious, he added, “Or you either.”

That statement was all it took to kick up Sam’s desperation. Ever since the talk with their dad the night before, Sam had been all big eyes and worry. Dean had to admit that he was unsettled himself. If it had just been him at risk, it wouldn’t have been so bad, but to realize that a major demon was interested in his son - and his brother? That sucked. They’d spent the night with Sam wrapped around Dean and Dean wrapped around Michael. The baby had been unusually fussy, waking on and off, but eventually they’d gotten him settled for the night. Neither of the adults, however, had closed their eyes for more than a minute or two.

“Bobby, demons are your specialty,” Sam pleaded. “Isn’t there something you can do? Some weapon you’ve heard of?”

Bobby sighed and put Michael back down on the quilt that was spread out on the floor for him. He took his ragged baseball cap off and scrubbed at his hair before flopping it back on his head. It was a blatant delaying tactic, but for once in his life, Sam showed patience and just waited the older man out.

“Look, I’ll tell you two the same thing I told your daddy,” Bobby sighed. “There are demons and then there are Demons, if you catch my drift. The low level kind, those you can get rid of with some holy water and a little Latin.”

“And the other kind?” Dean prompted. “The big ass ones?”

“I dunno,” Bobby shook his head. “The demon that killed your mom? I haven’t seen anything like it. Jim, your dad and me , we came up against one of its minions and sacred ground didn’t phase it a bit. And that wasn’t even the big kahuna.”

“Whoa,” Dean interrupted. “You had a run-in with its posse? Dad never mentioned that.”

Bobby scowled. “Now why doesn’t that surprise me? Your dad is a tight-lipped bastard, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“One of these days he’s going to learn to trust us with the whole story,” Sam’s face was grim and Dean stifled a sigh. The last thing they needed at the moment was for Sam and their dad to be at each other’s throats.

“So what happened?” Dean interjected, hoping to head Sam off from going into a complete snit.

“Some little blonde waltzed right into Jim’s church, pretty as you please,” Bobby told them. “Sanctified ground didn’t even slow her down. Came in pretending to be a troubled girl, looking for guidance. She fooled Jim completely, then her eyes went black and she started spewing all sorts of shit. Strong, too. In fact, if your dad and I hadn’t been there, I’m not sure that Jim could have handled it.”

Sam frowned. “Is he okay?”

“Physically, yeah,” Bobby answered. “But you know Jim, how hard he takes it when we lose an innocent.”

“She didn’t make it?” Dean questioned. “Why would that bother Pastor Jim? Offing a demon isn’t a bad thing.”

Bobby shook his head. “Never forget, a demon is non-corporeal. The physical shell they inhabit is a person and that person is still in there. Usually the possessed person is aware, in a vague sort of way, of what the demon is doing while in their body, but they have no control over it. Once you exorcise the demon, all the injuries it incurred while possessing someone show up.”

“So the demon gets to play,” Dean summarized, “and someone else has to pay the price.”

“Bingo,” Bobby praised him. His face fell. “This girl, her name was Meg Masters. As soon as Jim finished the exorcism, she started bleedin’. . . from all over. She still thanked us for freeing her.” Bobby sighed. “She died pretty soon after that, but before she did, she warned your dad that something big was coming.”

“She didn’t say what?” Sam pressed.

Bobby glared at him. “She was too busy spittin’ blood to be specific, Sam.” He looked unusually sad and Dean was a little surprised at how disturbed Bobby seemed at the girl’s fate. “Jim’s breaking the news to her folks, it took a while to track them down. He’ll be here as soon as he’s done.”

“That won’t be soon enough to suit me.”

All three of them turned at John’s voice. They’d been so wrapped up in Bobby’s story that none of them had heard him pull up.

“Why didn’t you tell us you had a confrontation with one of the demon’s minions?” Sam lost no time in demanding.

John shrugged. “I was going to this morning. I unloaded a lot of bad news on you boys last night; figured I’d give you a little time to digest it.”

Sam’s mouth tightened and he leaned forward, as though to make a retort. He didn’t; Dean’s hand on his arm stopped him. When his brother shot a surprised look his way, Dean just shook his head. It wasn’t the time for petty family disagreements.

“Is there anything else we should know?” Dean asked calmly. “Now that we’ve digested and all that.”

Their father was carrying a large paper sack. He set it down, well out of Michael’s reach, before continuing. “Bobby, did you find us a cabin?”

“Yeah. It’s as much a barn as a cabin, but it’ll do,” Bobby answered. “And the owner was none too picky about what we needed it for, even hinted that he wouldn’t mind getting the insurance money if something should happen to it. The place doesn’t have neighbors within sight or earshot either.”

“Good,” John looked satisfied. “That sounds about right.”

“A cabin?” Sam asked. “What’s that for?”

“You really want to confront a major demon in your neighborhood, Sam?” John pointed. “It makes no never mind to the demon, I promise you that, but you don’t want to give it more ammunition for destruction.”

“So a place out in the sticks, huh?” Dean commented. “Don’t know if I want to take Mikey out to someplace too isolated. Not before we have to.”

“It shouldn’t be necessary,” John assured him. “In fact, it’s best that you stay away for the time being.”

“The bad thing about freeing Meg is that now we don’t know who its eyes and ears are,” Bobby added. “There’s not a lot of chance that we can surprise it, but we’ve got to try.”

“And that means you need to live your lives as normally as possible until Mikey’s sixth month birthday,” John told them. “You have to go back to work tomorrow and Mikey to daycare.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Sam stated flatly. “You tell us that a demon is coming for Dean and Michael in less than a month and you want us to go work on a construction job?”

Dean’s initial reaction was the same. Ever since their dad warned that the demon would be coming, he hadn’t wanted Michael out of his sight. Still, he could understand the strategy being suggested. That didn’t mean he had to like it, though.

“You really think we can fool this thing?” Dean asked, garnering him a glare from his brother.

“It’s powerful, but not omnipotent,” Bobby pointed out. “And if there is a chance we can take it by surprise, we need to take advantage of that.”

“Dean. . . .” Sam’s tone was hurt, not liking that Dean hadn’t scoffed at the idea like he had. “You can’t tell me you’re seriously considering this.”

“I don’t like it, Sam,” Dean admitted. “But I’m willing to do anything to keep Mikey safe, even if it’s pretending to do nothing.”

Sam’s frown was directed at his brother. “What? You’re willing to let him go to daycare, where he’s not protected?” He whirled to face their father. “You damn well better not be using our son as bait.”

Surprisingly, John didn’t explode at the accusation. “I wouldn’t do that, Sam. The demon won’t touch Michael before he turns six months old. I don’t know why, but it’s a pattern that it’s never wavered from; it probably can’t waver from. There’s no reason to believe that he’s in any danger before then. Dean too.” 

Dean had to admit that it made sense. It wasn’t always possible to understand the rules of paranormal forces, but there usually was an underlying structure to supernatural phenomenon. The demon probably struck on an infant’s six month birthday due to some demon rule of nature that was inscrutable to humans.

Ever since Michael was born, Sam had deferred to Dean when it came to their son’s welfare. Not only had Dean borne the baby, but he was a little more experienced when it came to children than Sam was. This, however, was far too important a decision to rest solely with either one of them. Dean turned to his brother and lifted his eyebrows. It was enough for Sam to know exactly what was being asked.

“All right,” Sam finally conceded, shoulders slumping. “But after work, I want to help with the research.”

“You got it,” his dad assured him. “Trust me, we need every set of eyes we have on it. Hunters will start trickling in after a couple of weeks. Until then, Bobby, Jim and I will be coordinating research efforts.”

“Here, I made these for you,” Bobby tossed first Sam and then Dean some sort of charm, strung on a chain. “It’ll keep you from being possessed.”

Dean immediately put it over his head and Sam did the same. “What about Mikey?”

“A demon possesses someone so that it can use their body, Dean,” Bobby told him. “What use is a baby’s body gonna be? Use your brain.”

When he thought about it that way, Dean realized that Bobby was right. “Yeah.” He smiled sheepishly. “Sorry to go all worry wart on you.”

Bobby’s smile was unusually gentle. “Don’t worry about it, I understand.”

By the time they went to bed, Dean was glad that they’d made the decision they did. He wasn’t any more sure that Michael would be safe, but after only one day of living with the knowledge of the danger, Dean was sure he’d go bug-eyed nuts if he didn’t have something to distract him.

“Do you think he’ll be all right in there?” Sam asked as he watched Dean settle under the covers for the night. Michael was in his crib in his own room, at Dean’s insistence.

“Yup,” Dean answered. He fluffed his pillow before making a show of settling his head back on it. “We’ve got the baby monitor on.”

Sam shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Yeah, but Dean, with the demon coming. . . .”

“Don’t, Sammy,” Dean interrupted him. “In three weeks, things are gonna be back to normal. The last thing we want is a spoiled baby wanting to sleep with his daddies every night.” He waggled his eyebrows. “If you want to get any nookie this century, anyway.”

His brother gave him a long, searching look and Dean fervently hoped that Sam would resist the obvious temptation to poke at him. His firmness that Michael sleep in his own room had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the need to believe that the demon would be defeated and that their lives would continue normally.

From the way Sam’s expression softened, he understood the sentiment underneath Dean’s words perfectly. “All right.” He joined Dean under the covers. “But would you mind no nookie tonight? It’s kind of weird with Dad here and all. Maybe we could just hold each other?” Bobby had gone back to the cabin, but John was in his usual room right down the hallway.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Dean shifted over and met Sam halfway across the mattress. The brothers’ bodies fit together perfectly, but then, they’d had a lot of practice at it. Being wrapped around one another the way they were, each man was aware of when the other got up to check on their son, but neither of them commented on it. Sleep was going to be a rare commodity over the next few weeks.

Dean had spent most of his adult life as a hunter of the paranormal, which meant he was used to working at night. He’d never been much of a morning person, but having a baby had taken care of that. Michael usually woke with the sun, if not earlier. An alarm clock was rarely necessary at the Winchester house, so when it went off the next morning, it was cause for concern.

“Wha-?” Sam looked as rumpled and confused as Dean felt. It was a good look on him and under normal circumstances Dean would have taken advantage of that.

“The alarm,” Dean answered succinctly as he started getting out of bed. “It went off.”

Sam rubbed a hand across his face. “How’d that happen? Usually Michael wakes us up-.”

Dean could see almost the minute Sam realized why Dean was so tense. It might be coincidence that one of the few mornings that Michael didn’t wake them happened to be shortly after learning that a demon was after them, but then again, it might not. Dean had been the first one to start getting out of bed, but Sam was right behind him. Together, the rushed down the hallway to their son’s room.

Their father looked up from the changing table, where he was diapering a very cheerful baby.

“Morning, boys,” John greeted them. When he got a good look at their worried faces, he frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Dean grabbed Sam’s arm before his brother could say anything. “We overslept,” he lied blithely. 

“Well, get your act together,” their dad admonished them. “We need to be on top of our game right now.”

“You got it,” Dean’s smile felt a little sickly, but his father didn’t seem to notice. “C’mon, Sammy. We’ve got to get ready for work.”

Once they were safely out in the hall and several feet away, Dean allowed himself to slump against the wall. “We are such idiots.”

“I don’t know,” Sam slumped right next to him. “A demon’s on the way, it’s not unrealistic to get worried when anything’s out of the normal.”

Dean snorted. “That’s just it, Sammy. Dad always beats us to Mikey’s room when he’s here, that is normal. I think he likes the quality grandpa time before either of us get up.”

“Dad is a great grandfather,” Sam spoke slowly, as though trying to convince himself. “He’s not going to let anything happen to Michael.”

“Damn straight,” Dean agreed. He leaned over and kissed Sam quickly before heading back to the bedroom. “Choppy chop, Sam. Gotta go bring home the dough.”

The rest of their morning went pretty close to routine. Sooner than either brother would have liked, it was time to leave.

“Have you decided what you’re going to tell Ms. Devereaux?” John asked as Sam grabbed their lunches and Dean picked up the baby. John had met Liddy a couple of times and thoroughly approved of her, but was oddly formal around the woman.

Dean shrugged. “The truth.”

John hesitated. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“We’re not going to start lying to her now,” Sam replied primly. The Winchester brothers had been upfront with Liddy right from the start and she’d quickly felt like part of the family.

“Besides, Liddy’s a trooper,” Dean added. “As long as she knows the kids at the daycare aren’t in danger, Liddy’ll be able to handle it.” He looked at their father pointedly. “The kids aren’t in any danger, are they?”

“No,” John assured him readily. “I told you before; the demon only strikes the families it targets on the night of the chosen infant’s sixth month birthday. I’ll stick close by too, just in case.”

“So if it’s okay for us to go to work and you want Mikey to go to daycare like normal, then we can tell Liddy about it,” Dean stated flatly. “I don’t care how safe you say it is, the least she deserves is a warning.” 

John gave in, maybe because he’d gotten his way with the boys assuming their usual routine. “All right, but as long as you’re going to tell her, give her one of the amulets.”

“Is that necessary?” Sam asked, looking alarmed. “I thought you said the demon wouldn’t strike this far ahead of Michael’s sixth month birthday?”

“Better safe than sorry,” John looked implacable. “Just make sure you have her drink holy water before she puts it on, to make sure she’s not already possessed.”

“Bobby didn’t have us do that yesterday,” Sam mentioned even as he took the necklace.

Dean snorted. “Yes, he did.” When Sam frowned in confusion, he smirked. “The coffee. Should have known that Bobby wouldn’t spring for the good stuff unless he had an ulterior motive. Sneaky bastard.”

“Bobby has enough of them for every hunter joining the fight,” John explained. “And he has another set that he hopes will keep the demon from detecting their presence.”

“An invisibility charm?” Sam scoffed.

“Not exactly,” his father corrected him. “More like a charm to keep demon eyes turned away. It’ll spot someone if it looks directly at them, but hopefully the amulet will keep the wearer under the radar so to speak. Don’t know how well it works, but with any luck, it’ll keep the demon from figuring out that it has a fight on its hands.”

“Couldn’t we wear one of those?” Dean asked. “And just keep it from finding Mikey until after he’s six months old?”

John shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way, son. The demon seems to have some sort of special connection to the children it picks out. The hunters might be able to escape detection because it’s not specifically looking for them, but the demon will always be able to find one of its chosen children.”

“Like me,” Sam stated grimly.

“Like you,” John replied. “And like Michael.”

Sam turned towards Dean with an imploring expression on his face, but Dean cut him off angrily. “Don’t even think about it, Sammy. I’m not putting one of those ‘don’t look at me’ charms on and hiding. Not gonna happen.”

“Dean,” Sam pleaded.

“Not. Gonna. Happen.” Dean’s eyes blazed and Sam backed down.

“All right.”

“I don’t think it would have worked anyway, Sam,” John put a steadying hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Dean’s already in its sights. The best we can hope for is that we can keep it from realizing that we have other hunters backing us up.”

“I suppose.” Sam’s shoulders slumped, but he managed a wan smile for his father. Dean was glad that Sam wasn’t fighting him more on it. There was no way that Dean would hide behind an amulet, not with Sam and their son remaining vulnerable.

With the charm for Liddy in hand, the brothers headed out of the house. The short ride to the daycare was accomplished in silence except for Michael’s fussing. They deliberately arrived early, wanting to be the first there so they could talk to Liddy alone. Dean pulled the Impala into the drive and they sat for a minute, both men looking at the house. 

“It feels like the first day we dropped him off here,” Dean finally admitted. “I know it’s safe and the right thing to do, but I don’t want to.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam sighed. “But it got better then; it’ll get better now.”

Dean nodded, knowing his brother was right. “All right, let’s get this show on the road.”

The baby seat was on the passenger side of the car, so Sam got Michael out, who immediately clung to him. Sam looked at his brother, but Dean just shrugged.

“Maybe he’s teething?” Dean suggested.

“Or maybe he’s just picking up on how stressed we are,” Sam countered as they walked up to Liddy’s door.

“Oh, great, that’s just what we need.” Dean groaned and reached out to shake Michael’s elbow. “Mikey, please tell me you’re not a chick in hiding, like your Daddy Sam.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but Michael gave Dean a toothless grin, which was all he was really after anyway. As a result, by the time Liddy came to the door all three of the Winchesters were in a better mood.

“Dean, Sam,” she greeted them, shooing them into the house. “You’re early.”

“Yeah, well, about that,” Dean scratched at the back of his head.

Once they got into the better lighting of the living room, Liddy gasped as she got a good look at their faces. “What’s wrong?”

The brothers looked at each other and smirked. Yeah, like they could have kept a secret from Liddy. 

“You know that work we told you we used to do?” Dean started the explanation. “Like when we got rid of your ex for you?”

They’d met Liddy when Missouri Moseley had given them her name. The daycare provider’s ex-husband was causing her some trouble and, given that he’d been dead for months, it was a difficult situation for her to deal with on her own. Dean and Sam had introduced themselves and laid his spirit to rest. It had been the start of their friendship with her, not to mention giving them a healthy discount on their daycare fees.

“Yes,” Liddy answered. “You called it hunting.”

“That’s right,” Sam replied. “And, well, something’s come up. Something big.”

“I see,” she murmured. “I hope it’s not dangerous?”

“It will be,” Dean told her solemnly, all traces of his normal joking aside. “But we know when and where, so that helps.”

“What’s coming is centered around a specific date and time,” Sam continued the explanation. “So we’re confident that the daycare and the kids are in no danger.”

Liddy took a shaky breath. “That’s good to know, but I take it your family is at risk?”

Sam exchanged a quick look with Dean. “I’m afraid so. Mostly Dean and Michael, but it’ll have to go through my dad and me to get to them.”

“It?” She blinked. “That’s an odd way to phrase it. Do I want to know what it is?”

“No,” Dean replied. “You really don’t.”

“Look, we’ll understand if you don’t feel comfortable, under the circumstances, having Michael here.” Sam told her. It was something he and Dean had agreed on, although they hadn’t run it by their father. 

Liddy had gone pale, but at Sam’s offer, some color came back to her face. “No. As long as you’re certain that none of the children here are at risk, Michael is welcome anytime.”

“Thanks, Liddy,” Sam’s smile was relieved. “We appreciate it.”

“There’s just one thing,” Dean added. “Would you be willing to wear a protective amulet?” He smiled at her, but it wasn’t quite his best one. “Better safe than sorry and all that.”

She looked first him and then Sam, obviously uncertain. As her gaze passed Michael, however, her expression resolved. “Certainly.”

Dean started to hand her the necklace, but then he pulled it back. “Oh, yeah. Almost forgot.” He dug a small, silver flask out of his back pocket and held it out to her. Liddy looked at it and then raised her face to Dean’s, one eyebrow going up archly. Dean blushed.

“It’s holy water,” he explained. Dean moved to hand the flask to her again, but once more pulled it back. “Oops.” Grinning sheepishly, he wiped off the mouth of the flask with his shirt tail before finally passing it over.

Liddy took the flask gingerly. “All right.” She took a lady-like swig.

Nothing happened. Only then did Dean let out the breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Was that okay?” Liddy asked.

“Perfect,” Dean told her. He handed over the amulet and watched while she slipped it over her head.

“I really don’t want to know, do I?” She asked when she realized that both young men were watching her every move.

Sam gave her a tight smile. “You’ll sleep better if you don’t.” He kissed Michael on the top of his head and handed him over. Michael immediately grabbed for Liddy’s new necklace.

“We’ll be fine,” Liddy reassured them, straightening her shoulders.

“Yeah, you will.” Dean smiled at her. Liddy had more steel in her spine than people gave her credit for. “Besides, our dad’s in town. He’ll probably be around, checking up on you.

“Oh,” she blushed. “That will be. . . fine.”

“Dean, we gotta go,” Sam alerted his brother. “Or we’re going to seriously be late for work.”

Dean didn’t really care about being late, but he knew if he didn’t tear himself away right then, he probably wouldn’t be able to. Michael, who’d been happy enough to be transferred to Liddy’s arms, started jutting his lower lip out, prepping for a major pout.

“Hey, none of that,” Dean tickled the baby under the chin until he giggled again. “Now, remember what I told you and stay away from the girl babies. I’m too young to be a grandpa.”

“Dean. . . .” Liddy scolded him. “Michael’s always a perfect gentleman.”

After another round of baby kisses, Dean and Sam headed out of the house. Once they were seated in the Impala, Dean sighed heavily. Sam looked over at him, eyebrows raised.

“It’ll get better, right?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” Sam replied, but he didn’t sound entirely convinced.

On that solemn note, Dean backed the car out of the drive and headed them towards work. They had three weeks until the demon arrived and those three weeks were looking longer by the minute.

~continued in Demon Fight, part 3~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted April 23, 2008


	83. Demon Fight, part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is 5 months old.

The Winchesters’ lives took on a new routine. Their days were virtually unchanged, with Michael going to daycare and the brothers to work. Sam was gratified to find out he’d been right; leaving Michael at Liddy’s while there was a threat looming in the near future was hard, but it got better. They still took turns calling Liddy frequently during the day to make sure everything was all right. Hank, the general contractor they worked for, kept shooting both of them concerned looks, but let things slide. The Winchesters were good employees and hard workers, so he didn’t come down on them for having a bad stretch. Sam silently promised himself that they’d make it up to the man.

Evening was the time when their schedule changed. For one thing, John was there every night. He’d stayed in close touch ever since Michael’s birth and yet hadn’t been around for such a long stretch since his grandson was a newborn. Pastor Jim had returned from his unpleasant task of telling the Masters family that their daughter was dead and had joined Bobby at the as yet unseen cabin. The two of them continued their research and organizing the efforts of the other hunters. John split his daytime hours between the cabin and watching over Liddy’s daycare.

After a family dinner, their activities centered around Michael. There was nothing unusual about that; Michael always had the lion’s share of his fathers’ attention. Since learning of the demon, though, every moment seemed more precious. Sometimes Sam would step back and just watch as Dean played with the baby. He particularly loved it when Dean stretched out on his back on the floor and hoisted Michael as far up in the air as his arms would allow. Dean would slowly lower him, finishing with a bunch of kisses to Michael’s neck, face and tummy. Michael would shriek with laughter and then Dean would lift him back into the air so that the whole thing could start over again.

Sam thought he was being overly sentimental, but one night, as he was leaning against the doorframe and watching, he looked up to see his father observing Dean with Michael too. Their gazes met and Sam saw the glitter of tears in John Winchester’s eyes. 

Clearly Sam wasn’t the only one worried.

Only after Michael was in bed would the Winchesters’ attention turn to the demon. Sam would power up the laptop and peruse the research that Bobby or Jim had forwarded, looking for something they’d missed. He discussed the details with their father while Dean sat at the kitchen table and contributed to the conversation from there. Dean’s hands were busy making bullets, packing them with all sorts of materials that had been blessed by various religious means. 

After a couple of weeks, the new rhythm of their life seemed almost normal. Nothing, though, could lessen the weight of knowing that the thing that had killed their mother and Jessica was coming again. For once in his life, Sam wasn’t the only one who was having a hard time sleeping. As time went on, all three Winchester adults developed dark circles under their eyes.

With a week left to go, Sam and Dean came home to find a familiar truck parked in front of their house, as well as one they didn’t recognize.

“Bobby’s here” Sam commented. “I wonder who’s with him.”

Dean shifted the Impala into park. “Let’s go find out.”

Sam had to admit that he was curious about the other hunters. He still resented a little that their father hadn’t told them about this larger world of hunters. If he and Dean had known, maybe they would have been more prepared to come up against Gordon Walker. Then again, Sam thought as he took his infant son out of his car seat and into his arms, maybe this instinctive protective urge about your children never went away.

They walked into the house with their usual caution, but relaxed when they saw their dad and Bobby in the living room talking. Sam was vaguely aware of two other people, but his father’s approaching form blocked them for the moment.

“Well, speak of the devil,” Bobby drawled a greeting. “There they are now.”

“Glad you boys are here,” John said as he took Michael from Sam’s arms. “I couldn’t stop by Ms. Devereaux’s today.” He gently poked Michael’s tummy, causing the baby to giggle, which triggered a big grin from John. “I missed this little guy.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” a woman’s voice came from behind John. “The invincible John Winchester has a heart, after all.” 

John turned, revealing the speaker. “For my grandson, you’re damn right I have a heart.” He nodded towards Sam and Dean. “Boys, I’d like you to meet Ellen Harvelle.”

Ellen Harvelle turned out to be a woman of about their father’s age. From her no-nonsense canvas shirt and black jeans, she wasn’t an overly feminine woman, but came across as tough rather than butch. In other words, she was exactly what Sam expected. Her companion, on the other hand, was an eye full. The man was about Dean’s age, but slight of build. His face wasn’t that memorable, but his hair was a different story. From the way Dean’s eyes bugged out a little, Sam had a feeling that his brother found the long mullet cut a little hard to believe too, but Sam didn’t like the way Dean’s expression turned contemplative.

“Pleased to meet you,” Sam answered, a little awkwardly. How do you introduce yourself to someone who might be putting their life on the line to help your family? Sam was more used to being on the other side of that equation. “Thanks for all of your help.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Dean shifted restlessly next to Sam, no more comfortable with the situation than Sam was. “We appreciate it.”

Ellen started to say something, but Ash interrupted her. “Dude, did you really have a baby?” 

Sam felt Dean startle a little, but to his surprise, Dean didn’t snap at the newcomer. Maybe because Ash appeared to be genuinely curious instead of snide.

“Yeah,” Dean admitted cautiously.

“Why?” Ash asked.

Dean laughed nervously. “Didn’t set out to,” Sam could have argued that point, given how the fertility idol worked, but stayed silent. The tender look at Dean’s face as he gazed at Michael literally took his words away. “But I kind of like how it turned out.”

Ash whistled long and low. “Man, that’s gotta be, like, the best chick pick up line ever.”

Ellen slapped her companion on the back of the head before looking at the Winchesters ruefully. “I’d claim that he was raised by wolves, but the fact of the matter is that Ash’s mind works on a different level than most people’s.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Ash whined.

“It’s not,” John interjected. “Boys, Ash is the one who helped me nail down the demon’s pattern.”

“You found the pattern, dude,” Ash corrected him. “I just turned it into a search matrix, linked to weather service databases, local news sources, and insurance reports of house fires, and programmed a web crawler to monitor the results on a national basis.”

Sam blinked. “How’d you learn to do that?”

“M.I.T,” Ash shrugged. “I was a little misunderstood by the academic community.”

“Ash’s powers with the computer are almost paranormal,” Ellen explained, pride obvious in her voice. “He does research for a lot of hunters.”

Having done a lot of his family’s research over the years, Sam was impressed. And, he had to admit, a little intimidated. His abilities didn’t hold a candle to all that.

“Sammy does all right,” Dean replied gruffly. Sam felt a little better at the support.

“Look, I hate to interrupt this professional conversation, but soup’s on,” Bobby stated. “We can talk shop and eat at the same time, unless Ellen objects to anyone talkin’ with their mouth full.”

She snorted inelegantly. “Don’t worry about my delicate sensibilities; I’m not a big enough fool to expect good manners from a table full of hunters.”

Sam was glad that Michael was a baby and too young to understand the conversations going on around him, because the talk soon turned to hunting. Sam saw his father with a whole new set of eyes. Several sets, actually, as he and Dean learned of John Winchester’s early days as a hunter from both Bobby and Ellen. Ash didn’t have any stories to tell, but it was clear that he held the eldest Winchester in awe. Given what Sam already knew of Ash’s own intellect, that was pretty impressive.

All through the meal, Sam felt Ellen’s eyes on them, him and Dean both. She was also fascinated with the baby, taking any opportunity to hold him, but it was Michael’s fathers that she kept studying, try as she might not to be caught doing it. 

“All right, time for Michael to go to bed,” Sam announced as the others started clearing the table. The meal had taken a lot longer than normal.

“You got him?” Dean asked, pausing in the midst of picking up plates.

“Yeah, I got him,” Sam answered. It was his turn to get Michael settled for the night. “I’ll get his bottle and take him to his room.”

“Got it right here,” John said. As the others worked, he’d been running hot water and mixing the formula in. 

“Thanks, Dad,” Sam smiled at his dad as he accepted. After hearing stories of his father all during dinner, it was amusing to see his dad so domesticated. From the way Ellen’s eyes bugged out, she was shocked to see the hardened hunter so tender around his grandson.

Sam took Michael to his bedroom down the hall and settled in the rocking chair to feed the baby his bottle. It was always one of the most special times of the day, made more so because the air of impending doom that hung over the family. Sam smiled as Michael wrapped his comparatively tiny fingers around Sam’s and looked at his father intently as he fed.

“You’re Daddy Dean and I, we’re not going to let anything hurt you,” Sam whispered to the baby. “Nothing at all.” 

Michael grinned toothlessly around the bottle’s nipple, causing formula to dribble down his chin. Sam laughed softly and used the burping cloth to clean it up.

“You are such a flirt, just like your Daddy Dean,” he told the baby. Michael didn’t seem to mind and, for that matter, neither did Sam.

Despite the excitement caused by extra people around, Michael went to sleep quickly and Sam was soon back in the main area of the house with the others. The other hunters were huddled around a laptop that Ash must have brought, because it didn’t look at all familiar.

“And this is the national weather database I use,” Ash was explaining. “It was a mother to crack. Why, I don’t know. It’s not like a hacker can change the weather or steal it.”

“Hey Sam,” Dean greeted him with a small smile. “Did you get the monster down?”

“Yeah, he’s sleeping like a baby,” Sam returned the smile. He was aware of Ellen shifting uncomfortably, but when he turned to look at her, she turned away. “What are you guys doing?”

“Ash is showing your brother how he tracks the demon,” Bobby explained.

“C’mere,” Dean moved aside, making a space for Sam. “There’s a better chance that you’ll understand this stuff than me.”

The next hour was humbling. Sam thought he was pretty good with online research, but the matrix that Ash put together was complex. Even so, Ash kept crediting John with figuring everything out. Sam had been aware that his father was a good hunter, maybe even a great one, but he hadn’t credited the man with that level of intelligence before. Sighing, he rubbed his neck.

“Sore, Sammy?” Dean asked. 

Before Sam could answer, Dean had moved behind him and started rubbing his neck. Sam moaned and leaned into the movement. With his height, bending over a laptop for an extensive period was downright painful. The skillful kneading from Dean’s strong hands quickly melted the tenseness away and Sam groaned in appreciation.

“Anybody else need a drink?” Ellen’s tense voice interrupted the moment. “I need a drink.”

Without waiting for anyone else to answer, she got up and walked quickly to the other room. Sam’s eyes narrowed as he watched her leave and he came to an abrupt decision.

“You know, I think I’m thirsty too,” Sam stated as he shrugged out from under Dean’s hands.

“Sammy?” Dean looked ready to follow him.

“It’s all right, you stay here,” Sam waved him back. “I’ve got this.” 

John’s dark eyes followed him, but his father didn’t say anything. Sam was a lot more like his father than he liked to admit, so no doubt his dad had an idea of what Sam was up to.

When Sam got to the kitchen, Ellen was standing by the sink, a glass seemingly forgotten in her hands as she stared out the window. Sam came in quietly and observed her undiscovered for a moment. He cleared his throat, though, as he leaned his hip against the counter and tried not to laugh as she startled.

“Oh, Sam, it’s you,” she said faintly as turned around to face him. “I was just getting some water. Do you want some?”

“No, I’m good,” he decided to get straight to the point. “So is it the guy thing that’s bothering you or the brother thing?”

She at least thought enough of him not to attempt to dissemble. “The brother thing.”

“I see,” Sam nodded. His calm was a veneer; underneath he was seething. “And what gives you the right to judge us?”

Ellen didn’t mince words. “What gives me the right?” She snapped. “The fact that I’m recruiting people who may end up dying while trying to help you, that’s what gives me the right.”

Sam blinked. He had to admit that the woman had a point, but it still stung. As he thought about it, though, Sam realized that their father and Liddy were the only people that he and Dean had had to tell about their relationship. Everyone else had heard it from John. Either their father had issued some threats when he explained or their friends had sufficient time to assimilate the knowledge before seeing Sam and Dean again, but the brothers hadn’t received any negative feedback since their father had found out.

“We didn’t do it on purpose,” Sam tried to explain. “It’s just. . . . love happened and I wasn’t going to deny what I felt for Dean just because society thinks it’s wrong.”

Ellen gave him an icy stare. “I’m sure that’s what pedophiles say too.”

There were a lot of ways that Sam could respond to that, starting with smacking her. The only way that made sense, though, was to laugh. Her statement was exactly that ridiculous.

“Trust me, Dean’s not the most mature person in the world, or at least he wasn’t then, but he was of age,” Sam told her. Then he got serious. “We’re both consenting adults and I’m going to do you a favor and not tell Dean or my dad that you just compared us to child molesters.”

Sam’s words made Ellen blush and she had to look away from his intense gaze. When she looked back, Sam could see that even Ellen realized she’d gone too far.

“You’re right,” Ellen stated quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Accepting the apology with a nod, Sam couldn’t help but wonder about something. “Why are you here, if that’s the way you feel?” He asked. “If you disapprove of Dean and I so strongly, why put yourself on the line for us?”

Ellen looked genuinely surprised and even a little hurt at the question. “You’re human. It doesn’t matter if I approve of your lifestyle or not, I’m not turning my back on any human going up against a something like a demon. And that goes double since there’s a baby involved.”

Sam studied her long and hard and finally nodded. She seemed to relax a little at his acceptance of his statement.

“You’re not at all like I expected,” she told him with a rueful smile. “Neither one of you.”

His interest piqued, Sam cocked his head at her. “Really? In what way?”

She turned her back completely to the sink and mirrored his pose, leaning against the countertop. “Dean’s more the typical hunter, all cocksure and full of shit, but then when he’s with that baby, he’s so tender it can take your breath away. And you,” Ellen shook her head. “You’re smart and sweet; far too sweet to be John Winchester’s kid, until I said something you didn’t like. Then you became exactly like your dad.”

Being compared to his father no longer seemed like a bad thing. “Thanks.”

Ellen sighed. “You’re so young. Not really much older than Jo.” When Sam looked confused, she explained. “My daughter. She’s a couple of years younger than you.”

“Is she a hunter?” Sam asked.

“Hell, no,” Ellen sighed. “Not yet, anyway. I managed to get her to go to college, but I’m not holding my breath that she’ll stay there. She wants to hunt in the worst way.” The expression on her face became almost defiant. “I didn’t tell her about this hunt; there’s no way I wanted her involved.”

“Good,” Sam told her. “This is too dangerous.”

“I’m sure your daddy thinks the same thing about you and your brother,” Ellen replied with a sad smile. “But he doesn’t have much of a choice.”

Their conversation ended on that uneasy note. Later that night, Sam kept thinking about it as he spooned up behind Dean.

“You all right, Sammy?” Dean asked. “You were pretty quiet tonight.”

“Just thinking,” Sam nuzzled the back of Dean’s neck, causing his brother to shiver. “Ellen doesn’t approve of us being lovers.”

Dean snorted. “Ya think?”

Sam lifted his head, surprised. “You knew?” He hadn’t mentioned his conversation with the female hunter to Dean.

“Sam, Sam, Sam,” Dean turned in Sam’s arms to look at him. “You don’t know women very well, do you? I could tell within a minute that she had a bug up her ass about the brother thing.”

“You could?” Sam shouldn’t have been shocked. Dean wasn’t the best people person in the world, but he did know more about women than Sam did. “And it doesn’t bother you?”

Dean shrugged. “Why should it? It’s her problem, not mine.”

“I just,” Sam spoke slowly, as he tried to work it out in his own mind. “It just feels weird, thinking that these hunters we don’t know are coming to help us and they may not approve of the fact that we’re brothers.”

His comment caused his brother to chuckle. “Sammy, we’re talking about people who accept the fact that shit like werewolves and uneasy spirits are real. Compared to that, two brothers in love isn’t that big a deal. Besides, the people that matter accept us and that’s all that counts.”

“You’re right,” Sam admitted. He kissed Dean gently to reward his brother’s wisdom.

“Of course I’m right,” Dean replied. He turned back around and snuggled back into Sam’s warmth. “I’m the big brother and I’m always right. You keep forgetting that.”

“Sorry,” Sam started to settle in to sleep, but then something occurred to him. “Hey.” He poked Dean. 

“What?” Dean sounded irritated and a little bit wary.

“Don’t distract me with this ‘big brother is always right’ crap,” Sam declared. “I saw the way you looked at Ash tonight.”

“So?”

“So,” Sam stated firmly. “You are not growing your hair into a mullet.”

“Aw, come on, Sam.” Sam didn’t need to see Dean to hear the smile in his voice. “Like Ash says, business in the front; party in the back. Who can resist that?”

“You can,” Sam told him, poking his brother again.

“All right, all right,” Dean wiggled away from Sam’s reach, but Sam had long arms. He pulled Dean to him again and Dean gave in with a heavy sigh. “Besides, I wasn’t thinking of me.”

Sam started to get suspicious. “You weren’t?”

“Nope,” Dean sounded thoroughly smug. “You’re the one with the long hair. Give you a little bit of a trim in the front and bingo. Instant mullet.”

The ridiculous banter relaxed Sam. Dean in his bed and in his arms was right, no matter what people like Ellen thought. The thought of something happening to his brother, not to mention their child, was almost more than Sam could take.

“Just survive the demon coming,” Sam vowed as his arms tightened on Dean. “Just survive and I’ll get my hair cut any damn way you want.”

Dean patted Sam’s hands as Sam clutched him around his stomach. “It’s not gonna kill me, Sammy. You and Dad won’t let it.”

“Promise?” Sam felt like a child, the way he needed his brother’s reassurance.

“I promise,” Dean repeated. “And I’m the big brother, so you know I’ll keep it. Now stop bein’ a girl and go to sleep.”

As much as Sam loved his brother, that was a hard order to obey, but he faked it pretty well.

~to be continued in Demon Fight, part 4~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted April 23, 2008


	84. Demon Fight, part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is six months old

Time seemed to move unevenly. On one hand, their last week before the confrontation with the demon seemed achingly long, as though they couldn’t wait one minute to get the fight over with. Yet it also moved far too fast. Dean believed that Sam and his father would figure out how to defeat the demon and yet there was always that nagging ‘what if’ feeling in the back of his head. What if this was the last time he drove the Impala, gave Michael a bath or made love to Sam? Dean tried not to let it show, but he had a feeling that his brother and father were wrestling with ‘what ifs’ of their own.

The other hunters had started trickling in, according to their dad’s reports, although no one other than Ellen and Ash had been brought to the house and introduced. Dean was a little relieved at that. Sam wouldn’t tell him exactly what he’d talked about with Ellen, but it couldn’t have been good. Dean couldn’t help but be grateful to the woman for helping them round up hunters to help them, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be pissed at her for upsetting her brother. Thankfully, she hadn’t been around since that night.

Unfortunately, more hunters did not mean that a solution had been found. Most hunters had tips and techniques for dealing with lower level demons, but no ways for destroying a high level demon had been discovered. Dean tried not to think about that too much and buried himself into taking care of his son and his brother. 

One way or another, they managed to make it through that last week. Thankfully, Michael’s sixth month birthday fell on a Saturday, so at least they had work to distract them until the last minute. As reluctant as both brothers had been to go along with John’s idea of keeping to their regular routine, it turned out to be a godsend. All the research that could be done was already being done and working at least kept the brothers from going insane. It wasn’t always pretty, but they got by.

Finally, it was Friday, the day before Michael’s sixth month birthday. Dean and Sam managed to make it through work, but barely. Dean had almost shot himself in the foot with a nail gun and Sam had come close to beaning another worker in the head with a 2 x 4. The lapses did not go unnoticed, although their boss, Hank, waited until quitting time before calling them into the trailer that was serving as his office at the current construction site.

“All right, what gives?” Hank asked as he leaned back in his chair. “You two are usually my best workers, but you’ve been off your game all month.”

“We’re just having a little bit of family trouble,” Sam admitted. “It’ll be over soon.”

Hank looked at them in clear concern. “It’s not the baby’s mamma causing problems, is it?”

Dean had been pregnant when Hank hired Sam. Obviously Sam couldn’t admit what was really going on, so Sam had told his boss that his girlfriend was pregnant. After Michael was born, Sam claimed that she couldn’t handle having a child and had taken off. Dean’s presence was explained as his brother helping raise his nephew. Hank was a good man, but a conservative one, so the subterfuge had been necessary. 

“Not exactly,” Dean answered. He was a better impromptu liar than Sam. “It really has more to do with our dad.”

“Look, you can cut the crap on the ‘our dad’ stuff; I know what you are,” Hank stated. “You’re not brothers, that’s for damn sure.”

Sam gulped as he shot Dean a panicked look. “Why would you say that?”

“Because you don’t look nothing alike,” Hank pointed out. “And you’re a little touchy feely, if you know what I mean.”

And they’d thought they’d been so careful.

“Hank. . . .” Even Dean didn’t quite know what to say, but their boss helped him out.

“Look, you’re good men,” Hank was old enough to be their father. “I know what the bible says, but you’re good people. As long as you aren’t swapping spit on the clock, I don’t care and you can pretend to be brothers if that’s what you want. But I can tell when my two best crew are off their normal pace.”

“Mikey’s maternal grandparents want to meet him,” Dean improvised. “And we’re a little worried about it. That they might try to take custody of him.”

“They just found out and aren’t handling it well.” Sam joined in.

Hank sat up straight. “Well, if either of you need a character witness, you can count on me. Like I said, you’re good people and I don’t mind standing up in court to say so.”

Dean normally didn’t regret lying. Maybe it was becoming a parent or maybe it was just that Hank had been good to them, but he regretted the necessity of this lie. “Thanks.”

“You’ll have to let me know how it goes on Monday, but if you need some time off, you take it,” Hank told them sternly. “I’d rather be shorthanded for a couple of days than have workers here who don’t have their minds on the job. That’s a good way to get somebody hurt.”

“Yes, Sir,” both Winchesters replied.

Hank made a shooing motion. “Go. Enjoy your weekend if you can.” The Winchesters turned to leave, but Hank’s voice drew them back. “And fellas? It might be a good idea not to let any of the other guys on the crew know you’re not brothers. They’re not as open-minded as me.”

Dean’s smile was a little forced. “Thanks. We won’t.”

They left the trailer, but Dean waited until they were safely in the Impala before commenting on the encounter. “That went well.”

Sam huffed. “Who knew that Hank was so observant?”

“Could have been worse; he could have given us the pink slip. He was actually pretty cool about us being together.” Dean pointed out and then grinned. “You gotta admit, that bit about us not looking like brothers was pretty funny.” When Sam didn’t smile back, Dean frowned. “Come on, Sam, that’s a little bit funny.”

“I suppose.”

Dean sighed. “What’s wrong?”

Sam shrugged. “I just hate lying to Hank. He’s been good to us.”

“I know,” Dean agreed. “But do you think he can handle the truth?”

He waited while Sam thought about it, but his brother came to the inevitable conclusion. “No.”

“Me neither,” Dean replied. “Now, let’s go get Mikey.”

Liddy knew the truth and, as little as either brother liked lying to Hank, it was almost harder to face her. Liddy knew that it was the last day before the family faced something big and her expression was solemn as they entered her home.

“Where is everybody?” Dean asked as Sam took Michael from her arms. The house was normally full of babies and little kids, but their son appeared to be the last one there.

“I asked that they pick their children up early,” Liddy explained. It wasn’t that amazing that the other parents had complied. Liddy was a great daycare provider and reasonably priced. Like Sam and Dean, they’d probably do anything she asked to keep her on the payroll. “I wanted a few minutes alone with you, to ask if there’s anything I can do.”

Dean was touched by the unexpected offer, but Sam answered before he had a chance to.

“You could pray,” Sam stated. When Dean gave him an exasperated look, Sam stared back defiantly. “It won’t hurt and, despite what you think, it might help.”

“If you say so,” Dean replied, not wanting to start another fight about religion.

“I’ll set my alarm,” Liddy promised. “Midnight tomorrow night.”

Dean wanted to talk to Liddy alone, but hadn’t thought of an excuse to get Sam away. Michael had been grunting while they talked, though, and Sam wrinkled his nose. 

“Whoa, I think somebody just filled his diaper,” Sam announced. “Liddy, mind if I use your supplies to change him? It’s not far to the house, but he’ll be good and ripe by then.”

“Of course not, the changing table is right over there and has everything you need,” she pointed to a sturdy wooden table off to the side.

“This’ll just take a minute,” Sam told Dean, almost as if he expected Dean to snatch their son out of his arms to do the chore himself.

Dean shrugged. It was true that he’d been a little greedy with Michael as the deadline approached, but if Sam wanted to coddle him by changing a poopy diaper, then Dean was more than willing to let him. Besides, it gave him the opportunity he needed. As Liddy made to follow Sam, Dean took her by the arm and gave her a minute shake of the head. Liddy raised her eyebrows, but let herself be drawn a little bit into the hallway for added privacy.

“I need a favor,” Dean explained in a low voice. 

“Anything.”

Dean took a deep breath. “Everything’s probably going to go peachy keen fine tomorrow night, but if not, I’m the one likely not to come out of it.” He ignored Liddy’s moue of dismay. “If that happens, I want to leave something for Mikey to read when he’s old enough. And something for Sam too.”

He held out a small packet of letters. Writing them had been one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. Talking about emotional issues was never easy for Dean, but it was easy compared to writing the stuff down. Still, there was a chance he wouldn’t come through the encounter with the demon intact and Dean wanted to leave something behind that would help Sam get through it and to let Mikey know how very much his Daddy Dean had loved him.

“Are you sure I’m the right person to have these?” Liddy asked even as she accepted the letters.

Dean nodded. “Yeah. I can’t let Sam or my dad know that I have any doubts. Since you’re not in the fight, you’re the best choice. If something happens, that is, which it probably won’t.”

“All right,” Liddy nodded as she slipped the letters into the drawer of a small desk that sat in the entryway. “And on Monday morning, after nothing’s happened and you’re both here to drop Michael off, I’ll give them back to you. Unopened. Nobody will ever have to know.”

“Thanks, Liddy,” Dean surprised both of them by leaning forward and kissing her on the cheek. When he straightened up, he realized that Sam had finished with the baby and was right behind them, eyeing the two with a grin.

“Should I be worried?” Sam asked archly.

Liddy blushed, while Dean just chuckled. “Oh,you. Like Dean would look at anyone but you, Sam Winchester.”

“True,” Dean teased. “But if Sam ever dumps me, man, I’m headed right to your door.”

Sam laughed. “That’s because you like her baking.”

“Sammy, I’m appalled,” Dean claimed, affecting an affronted expression. “That you think that my interest in this lovely woman would be simply culinary. You should be ashamed.” 

“Ashamed?” Sam looked pointedly at Liddy. “But notice that he didn’t say that I was wrong.”

Liddy laughed, but almost immediately sobered. “I tell you what, I’ll bake up a pan of brownies on Sunday, just for the two of you.”

Dean nodded. “It’s a deal.”

To Dean’s surprise, Sam waited until the got to the car before he started interrogating him. “What were you and Liddy talking about?”

“Nothing,” Dean claimed. “Just how Mikey’s the smartest, strongest and cutest kid in the whole daycare and how all the other babies are jealous. Just the usual stuff.”

Sam gave him a skeptical look. “Riiight.”

Thankfully, the ride to their house was short and, for whatever reason, Sam didn’t press the issue. When they pulled up to their place, Dean halfway expected to see Bobby’s truck in front of their house and maybe even Ellen’s, but it was just their father’s. He looked at Sam, who seemed every bit as surprised as Dean was. The two shrugged at each other and, after getting Michael from his car seat, went inside.

Their dad had a full meal on the table. “I thought it should be just us tonight,” he explained.

Dean nodded. “Just like the old days.” Michael squealed, as if to remind them all of his presence. Dean grinned. “Better than the old days.”

The three adults sat around the table, with Michael in his highchair. The supper was a simple affair, just steaks done under the broiler, potato and salad, but the conversation was stellar. By unspoken mutual consent, discussion of the demon was avoided.

“Hey, Dad, you remember the first time Sammy cooked?” Dean asked.

Their father grinned. “How could I forget?”

Sam protested. “Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad.”

“The pasta was green, Sammy,” Dean pointed out. “What kind of dork buys green pasta?”

“We never had enough vegetables,” Sam defended his long-ago choice. “I thought if we at least had spinach pasta, it’d be slightly good for us and hide the veggies where you two couldn’t see them.”

“The. Noodles. Were. Green.” Dean repeated. “That was a little hard to miss, Sam, even for guys like me and Dad.”

“It wasn’t the color I objected to,” their father interjected mildly. “It was the way they clumped together.”

Even Sam couldn’t make a retort against that. Dean laughed as he remembered Sam as a teenager, trying to strain the green pasta noodles and having them slide out of the pot in a solid lump.

“That’s the thanks I get,” Sam muttered as the other two laughed. “For trying to make sure we didn’t all die of scurvy.”

“That right there, Mikey?” Dean leaned over to address his son. “That’s called ‘acting like a girl.’ Your Daddy Sammy is setting a bad example for you.”

The banter continued throughout the meal and afterwards, the Winchester men keeping the atmosphere light. Michael fell asleep in the crook of Dean’s arm, neither of his fathers having the heart to put him in his crib. Finally, all the stalling in the world couldn’t keep it from being bedtime.

“You boys bed down for the night,” John told his sons. “I’m going to stay up a while longer.”

Dean wasn’t fooled. “You’re going to keep an eye out, aren’t you?”

Their dad looked sheepish. “Yeah.”

“I thought it was tomorrow night that was the focus?” Sam demanded. “There shouldn’t be any danger tonight.”

John shrugged. “I’m your father; it’s my job to protect the two of you. I think I forgot that somewhere along the way, but I won’t forget again.” With an air of authority, he nodded towards the hallway. “Now, you boys take your son and go to bed. I’ll be keeping watch, just in case.”

“And who’s outside?” Dean guessed. “Bobby? Jim?”

His dad’s grin was full of pride at the accuracy of Dean’s guess. “Both of them.”

Sam opened his mouth to comment, but Dean grabbed him by the arm and tugged him towards the bedroom. “Come on, Sam.”

There was no putting Michael in his own room that night and Sam, wisely, didn’t comment on how that contradicted what Dean had said earlier about spoiling him. They put the baby in the middle of the bed, with one father on either side. Dean gently stroked his sleeping son’s face.

“It’s going to be okay,” Sam said, but Dean didn’t know which of them Sam was trying to reassure.

“I know,” Dean replied, even though he wasn’t sure his confidence was entirely truthful.

It should have been hard to sleep, what with the possible end to their domestic little world coming the next day, but Dean soon drifted off. With Sam and their son secure in bed with him and knowing that their father was guarding them, a sense of peace settled over Dean. Tomorrow was unknown, but for the night, at least, everyone he loved was safe.

Dean woke to the sensation of being watched. He opened his eyes slowly, to find Sam just looking at him. “Morning.”

“Good morning,” Sam looked like he wanted to say something, but instead lapsed into silence.

“If you’re thinking of telling me that today’s the first day of the rest of our lives, I’ll kick your ass,” Dean told him. 

His comment made Sam smile. “It’s good to know that you’re not succumbing to sentimentality.”

“Not gonna let some demon turn me into a pile of quivering goo,” Dean responded. He nodded at Michael, who was just beginning to open his eyes. “I’ll leave that to this big guy. Morning, Mikey.”

Michael snuffled a little, but gave his father a toothless grin that turned into a yawn. The sight made Dean chuckle. “He’s got the right idea. All he needs is his daddies, a full tummy and a clean butt to make him happy.”

“And we’ll make sure he still has all of those, come tomorrow,” Sam declared, a stubborn look on his face.

“Damn right,” Dean agreed. “Come on, let’s get started.”

They found their dad in the kitchen, getting a start on breakfast. He didn’t look the worse for wear, but then, one all-nighter wouldn’t be likely to put a dent in John Winchester. He looked up as they entered the room.

“I thought we should have a big meal before we head out,” he explained. “The cabin doesn’t have a lot of bells and whistles.”

Which meant that it was probably crappier than the motels they’d stayed in growing up. Given the condition of some of those dives, that would be pretty hard to do. Dean winced at the thought. A place like that was okay for him and Sam, but he was glad that Michael wouldn’t be there long. Dean wasn’t snooty, but he wanted better for his son.

“I’ll go get Bobby and Jim,” Sam offered. 

“Quiet night?” Dean asked as he got Michael’s bottle ready.

“Yeah.”

Once Dean was seated at the kitchen table, feeding Michael, he broached a delicate topic. “Look, Dad, while Sammy’s not around, I need to talk to you about something.” His father turned around and gave Dean his full attention. “Tonight. . . your priorities are Mikey first, Sam second and me last.”

John smiled grimly. “That’s funny. Your brother was down here before you woke up and he saw things a little different. Mikey first, you second and him last.”

“That sneaky little bi-. . . .” Dean muttered. “Dad, you know it can’t go down that way. This demon, it’s interested in Sam. We can’t let it have him.”

His father came over and put his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Look, I get that Mikey is our number one priority; he’s a baby. After that, no guarantees.” When Dean started to protest, his father pleaded with him. “Don’t make me choose between you, Dean. I have two sons and, despite what Sam thought when you were growing up, I love you both just the same.”

Dean’s mouth snapped shut. He’d always heard that love was the one thing that grew, the more you spread it around, but hadn’t really believed that until his son had been born. Dean never thought he could love someone as much as he did Sam, but he did his son,  
although in a different way. It was possible, although Dean didn’t like to think about it, that he loved Michael more. He couldn’t imagine having another child and feeling just as much for him, but would have to trust it was true. 

“All right, I guess can live with that,” Dean agreed and was rewarded with a dimple-popping grin from his father.

“Live with what?” Sam asked as he came back into the room. Bobby and Jim were in tow and, like John, were alert despite a night of guarding the house.

“Your cooking,” Dean lied. “You’ve got bacon duty, Sammy.”

Sam narrowed his eyes, but when he spoke, it wasn’t to question the validity of Dean’s claim about what he and their dad had been talking about. “And what will you be doing while I’m slaving over a hot stove?”

Dean put on his most angelic expression. “Feeding the baby.”

“Not anymore,” Jim stepped in and took Michael from his father. “I haven’t spent nearly enough time with this fine young man.”

Dean grumbled a bit, but only in play. Along with Bobby, Pastor Jim had been an important part of his childhood and he enjoyed seeing the man interact with his son. “All right, but don’t drop him on his head like you did with Sam.”

Bobby’s chuckled. “You drop one baby and they never let you live it down.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “To forgive is divine, Dean.”

“Oh, I’ll forgive you dropping Sammy,” Dean quipped, ignoring Sam’s huff of indignation, “but not my boy.” 

The banter continued through the making of breakfast, but while they ate, talk turned to strategy. Between them, the older hunters filled Sam and Dean in on who would be joining the fight and how they planned to confront the demon. To Dean’s surprise, given how much he admired all three hunters, he was less than impressed.

“Let me get this straight,” Sam said after the older men had finished. “The sum of your plan is to hit it with everything when it shows up?”

Apparently, Sam wasn’t any more impressed with the plan than Dean was.

“Guys, nothing personal, but a battle cry of ‘get her’ was funny in Ghostbusters,” Dean added. “But this is a little more serious.”

John looked older than his years as he replied. “I know, son, but it’s the best we’ve got.”

“God willing,” Jim added, “it’ll be enough.”

Dean was fond of Jim, so he didn’t protest, but had a bad feeling. From the way Sam’s lips thinned, he did too.

Cleaning up breakfast was subdued and then they worked on packing for the trip to the cabin. The brothers didn’t need much by way of supplies, but Michael was a different story.

“I don’t know how Dad did it,” Sam panted as he lugged out the portable crib they’d borrowed from Liddy.

Dean had already opened the Impala’s trunk. “We didn’t travel so much until you were a little older,” he explained absently. Dean looked up from the weapon cache to meet Sam’s eyes. “You know, we don’t hunt much anymore. What say, after tonight, we put this stuff in a locked box or something so we have more room for baby supplies?”

The suggestion made Sam’s eyes light up. “I’d like that; I’d like that a lot.”

“Just put the crib in the back of Bobby’s truck,” John told them.

“Or yours,” Dean added. “There’s no way it’s fitting in this trunk.”

“Actually,” their father looked a little unsure of himself. “I thought, if you boys didn’t mind, I could ride with you.”

“Of course,” Sam answered. “We’d be glad to have you.”

It was a little odd, having the three Winchester men riding in the Impala again. Odd, but in a good way, especially with the addition of Mikey, the latest Winchester generation. Unlike the old days, Dean drove instead of John. Sam was in the passenger’s seat, which he hadn’t even offered to his dad. Nostalgia only went so far and there was clearly no way that Sam was going to relinquish his place by Dean’s side. John didn’t seem to mind sitting in the back. Then again, that was where Michael was and John spent the entire ride making faces at his grandson and causing him to giggle.

The trip to the cabin took about 40 minutes and, as described, it was isolated. It was a good thing that Bobby was driving ahead of them, because even as good at navigating back roads as Dean was, he would have soon been lost. 

After they pulled up, Dean put the car in park and just looked at the place for a minute. It was big, almost barn-like, and not in the best of condition. What had once been a porch had fallen into disrepair and the rest of the cabin didn’t look to be much better.

“No wonder Bobby said the owner wouldn’t mind if it got demolished,” Sam commented. “It’s halfway there already.”

“It’s not quite as bad as it looks,” John described. “There’s electricity and running water, although we’ve been boiling what we want to drink.”

The brothers got out of the car slowly. Since he was in the back, John got Michael out of his car seat, but promptly handed him over to Dean. The baby was quiet as they looked around.

“Hey, fellas,” Bobby called over to the family. “Come on over and meet everybody.”

As they’d been getting the baby out of the car and studying the cabin, a small group of people had begun to gather. Dean swallowed heavily. He didn’t know how to do this; meet and thank strangers for being willing to risk their lives for his family. Michael chose that moment to lay his little head on Dean’s shoulder, snuggling tight, and that reminded Dean of what they’d be fighting for. He buried his nose into Michael’s fine hair and the sweet scent of clean baby steadied him.

“You okay?” Sam softly asked.

“Yeah,” Dean straightened. “Let’s do it.”

To Dean’s surprise, the first figure to come forward was a familiar one.

“Joshua?” Dean exclaimed in confusion. “What are you doin’ here? You’ve got a little kid of your own.”

A couple of years earlier, while Sam had still been at Stanford, Dean had broken his leg. While he recovered, he’d stayed with Joshua; his wife, Karen, and their little girl, Annie. Not only did the Winchesters already owe Joshua for pointing Sam to the faith healer that had cured Dean’s heart condition, but Annie was only three years old. Dean felt a little ill that the father of a small child would be involved in the confrontation.

“Karen and I talked about it,” Joshua said as he came forward to greet them. “And we decided that it if were Annie at risk, that you would be the first one to help.”

That was true, but Dean’s voice was a little hoarse as he answered. “Thanks. We really appreciate it.”

“Dean, Sam, I’d like you to meet Isaac and Tamara Jones,” Bobby introduced a young black couple. The man nodded at them in a friendly manner, but the woman stared almost intently at Michael. 

“Thank you for coming.” Sam responded this time. “We’re grateful for your help.”

“Always willing to help another hunter out,” Isaac replied. When his wife didn’t say anything, he looked at her in concern. “Right, honey?”

Tamara Jones startled, as though she hadn’t realized she’d been staring. “Oh, I’m sorry. That’s right.” Her smile was a bit watery. “We. . . lost. . . our daughter to a creature a few years ago. We couldn’t turn away from helping another child.”

Most hunters got started because of something paranormal happening to someone they knew. She’d been vague, but there was no doubt in Dean’s mind that something supernatural had gotten the Jones’ daughter. If that were the case, her death had probably been unpleasant.

“Would you like to hold him?” Dean offered. The last thing he wanted was to let go of Michael, but he couldn’t help but react to another parent’s pain.

She looked uncertain, glancing at her husband for reassurance. When he smiled and nodded encouragement, Tamara smiled at Dean. “All right. Just for a minute, though.”

While Tamara was holding the baby, under the casual-seeming but careful supervision of both Winchester brothers, Jim approached with two older men. “Dean, Sam, you should meet Steve Wondell and Daniel Elkins.”

Wondell was apparently a man of little words. He shook their hand readily enough and nodded easily at Dean’s words of thanks. Elkins, on the other hand, wasn’t shy about showing that he was studying them.

“Well, you’re brawny enough, both of you,” the old man finally declared, after shrugging off their attempt to thank him. “You take after your father that way. Sure hope you’re smarter than him, though.”

“Hello, Daniel,” John drawled a greeting as he stepped to his sons’ sides. “It’s good to see you too.”

Elkins sniffed. “Don’t think I’m here to save your hairy ass,” he stated as he stalked off. “You’re one ungrateful son of a bitch. I’ve got a weapon or two I want to try, that’s all.”

“Let me guess,” Sam spoke to his dad after Elkins left and Wondell had wandered away. “Mr. Elkins is not exactly a card-carrying member of the John Winchester fan club.”

John shrugged. “Daniel’s a good man; taught me a lot about hunting when I first started out. We didn’t always see eye to eye, though.”

Dean snorted. “Ya think?” 

Tamara walked over with Michael and handed him back to Dean. “Thank you, he’s precious.”

“He turned out pretty good, at least so far,” Dean replied. He bounced Michael on his hip until the baby laughed. “Right, Mikey?”

“Well, I’ll be damned, it’s true. You baked a bun in your oven, which is weird because I didn’t even know you had an oven.”

The voice was familiar, but it wasn’t until the newcomer walked closer that Dean could place it. “Richie?”

With his Hawaiian shirt, tacky hat and scruffy goatee, Richie looked more like a card shark than a hunter. Some things, indeed, never changed.

Richie came closer and gave Dean a one-armed hug, careful not to squish the baby. “Man, I thought Bobby was shitting me when he told me.”

“Dean, maybe you should introduce us?” Sam had stepped closer to Dean’s other side and was eyeing Richie balefully.

Dean was amused. Sam was the one who’d left for Stanford, walking away from the family in the process. Even so, every time he found about something Dean had experienced while he was gone, Sam acted almost jealous. Richie, it seemed, wasn’t any different.

“Sam, this is Richie,” Dean explained. “I met him on a hunt while you were in California.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Sam held out a hand, which Richie enthusiastically shook. “Thanks for coming out to help.”

Richie shook his head in amazement. “How could I not, once I heard? Man, you with a rug rat. Who’d a thunk it?”

“Pretty amazing,” Dean admitted. He sobered as he gave Richie as serious look. “Are you sure you should be here? This is serious stuff. Might be out of your league.”

“I know, it’s the coolest thing,” Richie answered. As usual, he had a big grin on his face. “I gotta go find Ash. I owe him ten bucks. He told me that Bobby was right about you having the kid and all, but I didn’t believe him.”

As Richie strutted away from them, Sam turned to Dean with one raised eyebrow. “He’s a hunter?”

“Not a very good one,” Dean admitted. “Dad, why is Richie here? He’ll get slaughtered.”

John shrugged. “We need every man and women we can get. Richie’s a big boy, he can make his own decisions. Besides, Joshua said he’d keep an eye on him.”

Bobby sauntered over. “That’s about everybody. Gordon Walker’s in jail and we thought it best not to involve Kubrick and Creedy. They’re cronies of Gordon’s; didn’t know if we could trust ‘em. Besides, that Kubrick’s a Jesus freak; he could just as easily decide that Sam’s something to be destroyed instead of the demon.”

Dean looked around, realizing something was missing. “What, no dogs?”

Bobby grimaced. “Couldn’t bring ‘em. Too many hunters to acclimate them to. I was worried they’d attack the wrong thing.” His face took on an expression of pride. “Xena, that pup I’m training for Mikey’s coming along fine.”

Sam frowned. “What about Caleb? He’ll be here, won’t he?”

“Said he would,” Bobby answered. “Called this morning before you got here; said he was running a little late because he had to pick something up.”

“I’d still feel better if we had a doctor in the group,” John muttered. He looked distinctly uneasy.

“We’re not calling Dana,” Dean stated flatly. “It’s bad enough that Joshua’s here; Dana’s eight months pregnant. I don’t want her hearing a peep about this until it’s long over.”

John didn’t argue the point; even he knew how utterly inappropriate it would be to have a pregnant woman involved in the fight. They’d toyed with the idea of telling her husbands, but as welcome as Walter, Mulder and even Krychek would have been in a fight, no one wanted to risk them.

Ellen exited the cabin and came to stand at the edge of the porch. “Everyone come inside and we can talk about strategy.”

All of the hunters, including the Winchester brothers, obeyed. Once inside, Dean discovered that his dad had been right, the cabin wasn’t as bad on the inside as it was on the outside. That was mostly due to the fact that it was almost empty. There was a rickety table, along with a couple of equally unsteady-looking chairs and a dirty sofa, but other than that, it was mostly furnished with empty barrels and wooden crates. At least the main room, which included both kitchen and a living room, was fairly empty. A hallway led off to the back, where Dean assumed there was a bedroom and maybe even a bath.

There were blankets nailed to the walls, which Dean thought was odd. As dilapidated as the cabin looked, he didn’t remember any gaping holes from the outside. Bobby saw both his interest and confusion. As Dean watched, Bobby pulled a blanket aside, showing that the wall had been thickly adorned with protective symbols. Dean gave Bobby a thumbs-up sign and, grinning, Bobby let the blanket drop.

John stood as though to address the group, but the sound of an approaching vehicle interrupted him. Jim stood and opened the door just enough to look outside to see who it was. When he turned around, he was smiling. “It’s Caleb.”

Caleb strode into the cabin a few minutes later. “This place is a bitch to find.”

Bobby shrugged. “That was the idea.”

Long used to Bobby and Caleb butting heads, Dean paid more attention to the man who’d followed Caleb in. The stranger appeared to be in his early 50s and, from his slight paunch, he wasn’t in the best of shape. Long graying black hair was pulled back into a braid and his eyes were wide as the newcomer silently stared at the people surrounding him.

“You two knock it off,” John impatiently silenced the bickering hunters. “Caleb, who did you bring with you?”

“Dr. Leonard Goodman,” the stranger stepped forward and introduced himself.

Pastor Jim’s face brightened. “A medical doctor?”

“Yeah, he is,” Caleb answered for the other man. “I met him a couple of months back, when I helped his tribe deal with a skinwalker. Figured we could use a good sawbones for this fight, so I stopped on my way in and convinced him to help us out.”

John eyed Dr. Goodman and his apparent softness skeptically. “You any good?”

Dr. Goodman didn’t look offended. “I’m not a hunter, if that’s what you mean, but I did my residency in the ER at a public hospital on Chicago’s east side. I’m not going to run out on you.”

An almost palatable sigh of relief could be heard coming from around the cabin. All of the hunters knew this was a big fight they were going into. There was no guarantee that having a doctor at the scene would help, but it couldn’t hurt. Worst case scenario, those that survived the fight itself would have improved care.

“Dr. Goodman,” Pastor Jim spoke for all of them. “Thank you for coming.”

“Lenny,” the doctor corrected him. “And I’m glad to help. Our elders have talked about this kind of stuff for years, but I never dreamed it was true. Not until Caleb saved some of our people from that skinwalker earlier. Now I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Dean watched as the other hunters exchanged knowing glances. He and Sam had been raised in the lifestyle, but the others had all come to it as adults. The older hunters were familiar with having their awareness raised and the awe coupled with fear that accompanied the discovery.

The latest arrivals found a place to sit and the planning session started in earnest. Dean settled on the floor, next to Sam. He idly fished out his car keys for Michael to play with, striving to keep the baby quiet while the adults strategized. The cabin had seemed large when he’d first seen it, but now it seemed to be full. Dean did a quick headcount. They numbered 15. Up until recently, Dean hadn’t realized that many hunters existed. Now he could only hope that they’d be enough.

~to be continued in Demon Fight, part 5~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted April 23, 2004


	85. Demon Fight, part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is six months old.

The strategy planning session looked like it would continue the full day. At first, Sam and Dean both were content to sit on the floor with Michael, trying to keep him quiet. Neither brother was particularly fastidious, but there was no way that they were allowing their baby boy on a floor that dirty. They passed the infant between the two of them, managing to keep him entertained while still paying attention to the discussion amongst the other hunters.

If it could be called a discussion.

Hunters were an independent breed and didn’t take naturally to being gathered as a group. Their father and Bobby were obviously respected individuals, but they both also had rather contentious personalities. Pastor Jim was the one to step in when tempers began to be too frayed, but the discussion frequently became heated.

After the first hour, Dean passed Michael to Sam again. Sam raised at eyebrow at the determined look on his brother’s face, but didn’t say anything. It would be interesting to see what Dean did.

Dean cleared his throat and waited until the other hunters gave his attention. “Seems to me that we’ve got some people with more experience with spells and others that are better with weapons. . . .”

“What are you trying to do, boy?” Daniel Elkins interrupted. “Trying to tell us how to run this hunt? What makes you think you can?”

“Them.” Dean’s eyes snapped with anger as he pointed to Sam holding Michael. “It’s my family on the line. You may have more experience than me as a hunter, Elkins, but all I’ve heard so far is how this hunt isn’t like anything that any of you have come across before. So let’s toss out what’s not gonna work and start thinking outside the box, because that box can become a coffin all too easy.”

Sam might have been the only one there not surprised when Dean took control of the room. His brother was normally more than willing to defer to their father or to Sam’s supposedly greater intellect, but with his family in danger, Dean wasn’t content to let strangers take the reins. It was still like herding cats, but with Dean driving the conversation, it became less about personalities butting heads and more about getting some serious planning done.

They worked through lunch, meager as the meal was, and eventually even Daniel Elkins ran out of things to say. A few of the hunters left to take care of getting the supplies that had been suggested during the discussion, but most of them split up to get some rest. To Sam and Dean’s surprise, there were tents and other shelters hidden in the woods all around the cabin.

“There’s a bedroom in the back,” John suggested to his sons. Michael had fallen asleep in Sam’s arms. “Why don’t you boys go get some rest? You need to be fresh for tonight.”

“What about you?” Dean pointed out. “You, Jim and Bobby all stood guard last night. You need sleep more than we do.”

John shrugged. “I’ll bunk down in the car and I imagine that Jim and Bobby will do the same in whatever’s handy. It’s hardly the first time.”

Sam handed Dean the baby, careful not to jostle Michael too much. Wincing as his stiff legs protested the movement, he got up and started tugging on Dean’s arm. “Come on.”

Dean let himself be pulled away, but before the brothers could get too far, their father’s voice stopped them. “Dean, I’m proud of you. Both of you.”

His father’s praise got Dean to smile, even if just a little bit. Sam headed down the short hallway and Dean followed with Michael. One of the hunters must have broken away during the discussion at some point, because the portable crib was set up and waiting. Dean carefully lowered the baby inside. Michael made a sleepy cooing sound, but didn’t wake. His fathers stood over his crib, admiring their son.

“He’s something, isn’t he?” Dean finally said.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. He hip-checked his brother. “And speaking of being something, Dad’s not the only one proud of you.”

Dean shrugged. “We’re only gonna get one chance at this, Sammy, it’s got to be right.” In an obvious attempt to change the subject, he looked around the room. Except for the portable crib and an air mattress, it was pretty empty. “I wonder why Dad wanted us in here? The Impala might have been better.”

“I think he wanted to give us some privacy,” Sam suggested with a slight smile.

“Sam, you dog, if you think we’re doing the nasty with our son in the room, you’ve got a hole in the head,” Dean smirked. “Not to mention that there’s over a dozen hunters within hearing distance.”

Knowing the comments for a defense mechanism, Sam didn’t get offended. He just shrugged and gave Dean a lopsided grin. “I was thinking it would be kind of nice to just hold each other.” He held out a hand.

Dean took his brother’s hand and let Sam lower them down to the air mattress. Once they were curled up together, he gave Sam a serious look. “Holy crap, Sam. If Mikey learns how to do that, we are so toast, man. He’ll be spoiled like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I wasn’t using puppy dog eyes,” Sam replied smugly.

“Oh, the hell you weren’t,” Dean retorted. “Still are.”

Sam shrugged and his grin got wider. “If it gets me what I want. . . .”

“You should just unleash that look on the demon,” Dean quipped. “Not even hellspawn can withstand it.”

“That’s not funny,” Sam’s smile slid away.

Dean sighed. “Yeah, I suppose not.”

Since the mood was already strained, Sam decided to go for broke and bring up something that had been bothering him. “So when we go to Liddy’s and pick up your brownies on Monday, are you going to get back the letters you left with her?”

Dean stiffened in his arms. “She told you.”

“No,” Sam reassured him. “I saw you and just figured it out.” He stroked his hand along Dean’s arm. “It’s all right, you know.”

“Sam, I’m going to try my damn-. . . hardest not to die tonight,” Dean lifted himself up on one elbow to gaze intently into Sam’s eyes. “And you and Dad and everybody else is going to do their best too. But sometimes shit happens and if it does, I want Mikey to know how much I love him.” He stopped as Sam smiled gently at him. “What?”

“It’s just that seems awfully sensitive of you is all,” Sam explained. “I’m proud of you.”

“I saw how hard it was for you,” Dean told him. “Growing up without knowing Mom at all. You remember asking me if she loved you? Well, no matter what, Mikey’s not going to have to ask. He’s going to know.”

Sam felt a lump in his throat. “Because you’ll be around to tell him.”

“I hope so,” Dean replied, laying his head on Sam’s chest. The brothers were silent for several moments. “Sam?”

“Yeah, Dean.”

“This is, like, the most selfish thing ever, but I need you to know something.”

Sam lifted his head and stared down at him. “Yeah?”

“If I kick the bucket,” Dean said hesitantly, “I want you to find somebody else, eventually, and be happy.”

“That’s nice,” Sam replied, confused. “Unnecessary since you’re not going to die, but wanting me to be happy’s not selfish, Dean.”

“The part where I don’t want you to hook up with another dude is,” Dean stated bluntly. “I don’t mind a chick so much, so Mikey can have a mom, but no other guys."

Sam blinked rapidly. What Dean didn’t know what that there had never been any other guys for Sam, ever. And there never would. “Okay, no other men, I promise.”

His answer seemed to satisfy Dean, who settled back against him. Neither brother was sleepy, but talking seemed unnecessary too. They lay together as the afternoon wore on, exchanging lazy caresses and sweet kisses.

When Michael woke from his nap, Sam and Dean weren’t quite ready to join the other hunters. Instead, after the baby’s diaper was changed, they sat with him on the air mattress, playing peek-a-boo and other baby games. It was as though they were in their own little world, one where demons didn’t exist. Unfortunately, hunger did exist and when Michael starting fussing, neither Winchester could ignore that the day had worn down to dinner time.

“Shall we go see if there’s any grub?” Dean asked as he bounced Michael on his hip, trying to prevent the baby’s snuffles from erupting into full-blown tears.

“I suppose,” Sam agreed reluctantly. He dug into Michael’s baby duffle and pulled out a bottle and a couple of jars of baby food. “Thankfully, Michael’s all set.”

While they were still coming down the hallway, they heard the cabin door open and close. Neither one of them paid it much attention, knowing that a few of the other hunters had left to get supplies. When raised voices were heard, though, Sam and Dean exchanged a startled glance before hurrying to find out what was happening.

“Missouri Moseley, you fool woman,” their father was addressing Missouri, who evidently had just arrived. “You’re no good in a fight; you’ll get hurt.”

“John Winchester, don’t you give me lip,” Missouri retorted. “There’s no telling what’s going to be needed in this fight; don’t you deny those boys of yours anything that might help them.”

John snorted. “Yeah, right. You and your wooden spoon are just what we need.”

Missouri stepped closer and tilted her face up to glare at him. “You’re a big strapping man, John Winchester, but don’t think I won’t put you over my knee and pound some sense into you, if that’s what it takes.”

Given the differences in Missouri and John’s heights, it looked like David versus Goliath. . . and Goliath was getting his ass handed to him on a silver platter.

Their father ran his hand over his face, suddenly looking exhausted. “All right. It’s your ass on the line.”

She wacked him on the shoulder. “And keep a civil tongue in your head.” Missouri turned to Sam and Dean, both of whom were sporting big grins. “What do you boys think is so funny?”

Sam wiped the smile off of his face. “Nothing, ma’am.”

“Good answer,” Missouri nodded. “Now give me that bundle of sugar.”

Dean obediently handed over the baby, who immediately started to cry. “He’s a little hungry.”

“Then what are you doing just standing there, boy?” Missouri snapped. “Get this child something to eat.”

“We were fixing to do just that,” Dean told her, retrieving his son and leaving Missouri gaping. “Come on, Mikey, let’s chow.”

Sam followed Dean over to the kitchenette part of the room. While Dean got Michael in a bib, Sam went through the supplies, looking for a spoon. “Feeling brave, are we?”

“Hey, this might be my last night,” Dean was unrepentant. “Not going to spend it with Missouri calling all the shots.”

“Honey, thinking like that’s not doing you any good,” Missouri had followed them and was looking at Dean in concern. “The outcome of this night isn’t written in stone. Sam, have you had any visions?”

Sam blushed and looked down. “No.”

It was a sore point. Dean didn’t want Sam to have anything to do with the visions, but Sam wasn’t willing to overlook anything that might help them. He’d tried to have a vision about the upcoming confrontation, but it hadn’t done any good.

Missouri patted Sam on the hand. “Perhaps that’s for the best, Sam. They’re only glimpses of what might be.”

The cabin door opened again, revealing Ellen, Ash and Bobby, loaded down with bags. From the barbeque aroma wafting from them, they’d brought dinner.

“Hey, there’s a car out there that wasn’t here when we left,” Ellen stated, a frown on her face. “It looks to be a rental.”

“That would be mine,” Missouri stepped forward. “And you must be Ellen.”

Sam was surprised. It was clear that the two women had never met and yet his dad had made sound as though Ellen knew all the hunters. As he thought about it, though, Sam came up with his own answer. Missouri wasn’t a hunter.

“Ooooh,” Dean murmured as the two strong-willed women eyed each other. “Cat fight.”

In spite of himself, Sam had to stifle a bark of laughter. “Dean,” he hissed, quickly recovering his sense of propriety. His brother only chuckled.

Much to Dean’s disappointment, after she’d studied Missouri, Ellen gave a deep-throated chuckle. “And I was just complaining to Tamara that we had too much testosterone around here for my liking. You must be Missouri.”

“You poor thing,” Missouri moved forward to relieve Ellen of one of the bags she was carrying. “Surrounded by hunters who care more about their smart mouths than bein’ polite.” The last was directed to Dean, who startled, but recovered quickly and returned Missouri’s stern look with one beaming with innocence.

Dinner was a more civilized affair than lunch had been, although it was unclear if that was because of Missouri’s presence or just because the hunters were all planned out. Afterwards, they all pitched in to clean up and Jim led the group in a short, but heartfelt prayer. Sam participated in the latter and, to his shock, their father did too. Dean, however, did not. His brother took the baby to the other side of the cabin and kept Michael quiet. 

Afterwards, most of the other hunters left. The demon wasn’t due for hours yet, but it had been decided that they would conceal their numbers until the last possible moment. They still had no idea of the ‘don’t see me’ amulets worked and if there was the slightest chance that the demon didn’t know that more than the Winchesters were waiting for it, they didn’t want to give up that advantage.

Missouri gave each of the Winchesters a hug before she left with Ellen and Ash. “Don’t fret too much. It’s natural to be worried, but you’ve got good people here to help you.”

Dean waited until after she walked out before rolling his eyes. “Easy for her to say.”

“I heard that, Dean Winchester!” Missouri’s voice wafted back through the evening air. “And don’t you roll your eyes at me.”

Sam snorted. Dean would never learn when it came to Missouri.

Jim and Bobby had refused to leave, which was a comfort. Both men had been a part of his life for as long as Sam could remember, more like uncles than friends, really. The small group looked at each other awkwardly after the others left; they had a couple of hours to kill.

“Well, I’ve got a deck of cards,” Bobby drawled. “I think it’s long past time that Mikey here learned how to play a decent game of poker.”

“And he can learn that from you?” Jim teased. “Robert, your poker game has been called many things, but I don’t recall ‘decent’ being one of them.”

The familiar banter was relaxing and, although poker was about the last thing that Sam wanted to be doing, he found himself drawn into the game. As they had earlier, Michael was passed from father to father and seemed to be fascinated with the cards. It was probably just the bright colors on them that was attracting the baby, but Sam and Dean took some good-natured ribbing about it.

“Look, he’s trying to mark the cards already,” Bobby pointed out. “John, you been teaching this kid your tricks already?”

Sam took the ace out of Michael’s mouth. “Nasty, Michael. Yuck.”

“Yeah, it’s got hunter cooties,” Dean added as Michael’s eyes started to tear up. “You don’t want to mouth something this bunch of sweaty men have been fingering.” He took Michael’s hand, which was still reaching for the card and shook it vigorously until the baby giggled.

Like during the strategy session that morning, Michael eventually fell asleep, but there was no way that they were going to put him in the other room or even use the portable crib. Dean just left the baby sprawled over his shoulder, where he’d fallen asleep. Every once in a while, Dean would bend his head and kiss Michael’s hair gently. When Dean realized that Sam caught him doing it, he blushed, but didn’t stop.

Eventually it was 11:30 and even Bobby dropped the pretense of the game. “Well, I suppose it’s getting to be about that time.”

“Thank the Lord,” Jim dropped his cards. “This last hand was sent by Satan himself.” The joking fell flat and the pastor grimaced. “Sorry. Poor choice of words.”

John looked uncomfortable. “Bobby, Jim. . . thank you. Not just for tonight, but for everything you’ve done for us.”

“Yeah, man,” Sam added. “We appreciate it.” Never one comfortable for words, Dean just nodded.

“Knock that off,” Bobby retorted. “We’re family. You don’t need to thank family.”

“What I think Bobby’s trying to say is that the Winchesters have had more than your fair share of crosses to bear,” Jim added. “It’s been our privilege to help.” 

After Pastor Jim patted John’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort, Jim and Bobby retreated to the back room. The plan was for them to remain close, but hopefully hidden until the demon arrived. The Winchesters found themselves alone in the main room with nothing to do but to look at each other awkwardly.

“Better check the salt lines,” their father ordered. “From what we know of this thing, it probably won’t do much good, but we have to put up appearances.”

Following their dad’s instructions was familiar, so Sam immediately moved to obey. Michael had started to stir, so Dean stood holding him, swaying side to side in an attempt to get him back to sleep. Sam checked the windows while their father took care of the door. He’d just turned back to rejoin his brother, when a vision came out of nowhere, slamming into him with pain and horror.

The edges of Sam’s vision were dark, but the image in the center was all too clear. Dean, on the ceiling, dripping blood. As Sam watched, fire blossomed from behind his brother, engulfing his form. Just like Jessica and their mom.

“Sam!” The voice seemed to be coming from far away, but Sam clung to it like a lifeline. “Sammy!”

“Dean?” Sam blinked his eyes open. He was on the floor, with Dean kneeling next to him, a worried expression on his brother’s handsome face. Michael was still in Dean’s arms. The baby was whimpering and clung tightly to Dean’s shirt.

“You okay, Sam?” Dean asked. “You just toppled over.”

“I had a vision,” Sam explained. He reached up and put a hand on Dean’s chest. His brother’s heartbeat was strong. “Dean, you need to run. Leave Michael with Dad and me, we’ll make sure he’s all right. Just get out of here.”

Dean’s face hardened. “No way, Sammy.”

“Son, maybe you need to reconsider,” they’d both forgotten that their father was there. “We know it’s not going to kill your son or your brother. You’re the one in danger.”

“Yeah, right,” Dean snorted. “Tell me, Dad, would you high-tail it to safety to save your own ass if it were Mom you were leaving behind? Or me and Sam?”

John didn’t answer; he didn’t have to. 

Sam grabbed Dean by the shirt, careful not to disturb Michael’s grip, and pulled him close. “Just keep your promise and do your best not to die.”

“Got it,” Dean kissed him gently. “And I’m going to hold you to yours, Mullet Boy.”

A grin tugged at Sam’s lips. “Be careful what you wish for.”

Dean didn’t have a chance to reply; just then the lights started to flicker.

“It’s coming,” John’s voice was thick with emotion. “This is it, boys.” He took a deep breath. “No matter what happens, I want you to know I’m proud of you and that I love you.”

“Yes, Sir,” both Winchester boys responded in tandem. To some, that might seem an odd reply to such a declaration, but in a way, it summarized Sam and Dean’s relationship with their dad.

Sam exchanged a look with his brother. There would be no last minute vows of love; they weren’t necessary. After a final kiss, Dean solemnly handed Michael to Sam, after kissing the baby on the top of the head.

“Keep him safe,” Dean stated. “And remember, if it comes down to a choice between me and Mikey, don’t even think twice. Pick Mikey and don’t you dare feel guilty about it.” He cupped Sam’s cheek with his hand. “You got that, Sammy?”

“Got it,” Sam forced out past the lump in his throat.

Dean nodded in satisfaction and backed up until he was on the opposite side of the cabin as the other three Winchesters. All they needed was the demon, but thankfully it didn’t make them wait long. No sooner had Dean separated himself from his family than the cabin’s door opened.

The Winchesters held their collective breath as the demon entered the cabin. It strolled in as though it owned the world. In its perspective, it probably did. It casually skirted the Devil’s Trap that had been chalked onto the floor, but they’d expected that. Planned for it, actually. 

Sam was startled by how normal the demon looked. It had possessed a man’s body and it was the type of guy that Sam saw all the time. Medium height, medium build, average face. If Sam bumped into him at a coffee shop, in fact, he’d probably mutter an apology and not think twice about it. Then the demon looked over at Sam and Sam got his first look at its eyes. The yellow glow made it clear that something was inhabiting the man’s body, something not natural, and the vibe of barely restrained power oozed from it.

“Well, boys,” the demon drawled as it sauntered towards where Dean stood at the other end of the cabin. “I’m hurt, I really am. You had a baby and didn’t bother to tell me, didn’t even invite me to the christening.” It shook its head and tisked. “John, you didn’t raise your boys to be very polite. Let’s hope that the next generation is a little more thoughtful.”

Dean stood his ground and Sam thought he’d never been prouder of his brother. Although the demon appeared like a man, it was unnerving as hell. In Sam’s arms, Michael shifted, but didn’t so much as whimper. John’s hand came up and rested lightly at Sam’s back, both a comfort and a restraint. It was Dean’s plan to draw it towards him and it was the part of the plan that Sam liked least.

“You’ll never get within an inch of him, you bastard” Dean replied, chin coming up defiantly. 

The demon stopped right where they wanted it too, in the center of the Devil’s Trap hidden underneath a tattered rug. “What? You honestly think that the pretty little design you so cleverly hid will actually hold me?”

Sam gulped. They hadn’t held out much hope that the Devil’s Trap would hold it for long, but they’d at least hoped for the element of surprise.

“Sammy, come on over here and let’s have a family reunion,” the demon called to him. “Introduce me to your boy like the proud Papa Bear I know you are.”

Sam closed his eyes and kissed Michael before handing him over to his father. The baby was stayed totally silent, even though his infant’s eyes were wide with fear.

“Sam, what are you doing?” John whispered hoarsely. 

“I can’t let Dean face it alone,” Sam explained. He hadn’t liked from the beginning that Dean was going to be bait. “Protect your grandson. That’s the most important thing right now.”

Sam stepped out closer to the demon and Dean’s face fell as he saw his brother changing the plan. “Sam. . . .”

The demon turned. “Sammy.” The demon grinned and its eyes seemed more yellow than before. “I can’t tell how proud I am of you, Sammy. My boy has spawned.”

“I’m not your boy,” Sam retorted. He slowly started edging towards Dean. 

“Oh, but you are,” the demon laughed. “And so is your son.” It turned towards Dean with a sympathetic look on its face that was patently false. “You, on the other hand, are a major pain in the ass. Unexpectedly useful, given that you spread your legs for Sammy here and gave him a son, but now that the fruit of your loins is the right age, you’ve reached your expiration date. Time for you to go.”

The demon reached out for Dean, but the sound of man’s voice chanting Latin interrupted whatever it was going to do. Pastor Jim and Bobby came out from the back of the cabin. Jim was holding a bible in one hand and a rosary aloft in the other as he recited a ritual of exorcism.

The demon laughed. “Oh, that tickles.”

Jim’s voice faltered, but got firmer as he continued.

“You think the Devil’s Trap can hold me?” The demon’s smile dropped and it raised its arms in a parody of someone trying to invoke Heaven’s power. “Guess again.”

The ground shook with a rumble and Sam was hard-pressed to keep to his feet. Thankfully, he managed, as did his father and brother. Bobby also maintained his balance, but Jim fell to the floor as it cracked underneath them. No one was injured, but the Devil’s Trap was broken. 

Bobby didn’t waste any time. He lifted the rifle he was holding and shot twice. Both bullets hit the demon right between the eyes, but it didn’t even blink. It made a shooing motion with its hand and Bobby went flying. With a loud crunch, he hit the wall and slid down. 

“Bobby,” Sam cried out, but the older hunter didn’t answer.

Jim had dropped his bible when the floor split, but quickly crawled over to it. Within moments, he started chanting again, not even bothering to get off the floor.

“I know you,” the demon said in jovial tone as it easily stepped out of the devil’s trap and walked over to the minister. “You killed my daughter.”

“Now!” John’s voice was loud as he shouted. “Attack now!”

It seemed as though hunters practically crawled out of the woodwork, they entered the cabin so fast. As Dean had suggested, they were paired so that a hunter more skilled with physical weapons was teamed with one more inclined towards spells and rituals. Several guns blasted as the demon continued towards Jim, but no one dared try an incantation until the minister was finished. Mixing magic could be just as dangerous as the demon they were trying to fight.

The demon wasn’t phased by being shot; it didn’t even slow as it crossed the room and grabbed Jim by the throat. “You killed my daughter,” it repeated as it bent and casually picked a long splinter from the ruined floor. “The least I can do is return the favor.”

While the other hunters could only watch, it jabbed the wooden splinter completely through Jim’s throat and then pulled it forward with an awful ripping motion. Jim’s throat was torn completely out and he fell, gagging on his own blood.

“Awww, that’s too bad,” the demon stated. “I guess the words got stuck in his throat.”

A low rumble filled the room as over a dozen hunters growled. Joshua started the next incantation, this one in Hebrew. Ellen and Ash established themselves in the corner with a whole pile of guns, each one with ammunition consecrated in a different way. They knew that the demon could heal the body it possessed, but figured there might just be a limit to the damage it could take. As Ellen finished with one gun, a grim-faced Ash handed her another.

While Joshua chanted and Ellen fired, the other hunters formed a loose ring around the demon. It turned in a slow circle, not even wincing as bullet after bullet hit. John moved to the side, trying his best to shield Michael from the worst of the noise as the weapons were fired. 

“Oh, this is adorable,” the demon said, seemingly delighted. “I’m the center of this little shindig? How thoughtful; now I don’t have to hunt you down one by one.” The next of Ellen’s shots went through its throat, but healed as quickly as it bled. “Okay, you want to party? Let’s party.”

The demon lifted its arms again and started gesturing like a orchestra conductor. Hunters went flying as they were hit by unseen forces. As bodies tumble around the cabin, though, they found that the demon did apparently have limits to its ability to concentrate. Not all of the hunters were being played with and Wondell was able to sneak behind the demon and bury a knife in its back. Even though the knife was inscribed with powerful runes, though, it didn’t make much of an impression.

“Now that’s not nice,” the demon chided as it reached around and pulled the knife out. “Not nice at all.”

It casually threw the knife aside and it caught Tamara Jones in the side. She cried out and fell, her husband rushing to her side. Dr. Goodman had been kneeling next to Jim, but immediately got up to go help, the knees of his jeans soaked with Jim Murphy’s blood. Daniel Elkins took aim with a handgun that looked like an antique, but the weapon jammed. Swearing furiously, the old man retreated to work on it.

Sam was wielding his half-moon knife and made his own attempt. Unlike the other hunters, he was pretty sure the demon wouldn’t hurt him. He waited until the crossbow bolts that Dean shot passed through the demon before stalking closer. Sam got almost within striking distance before the demon turned. Those yellow eyes, up close, felt like they burned right into him.

“Et tu, Sammy?” The demon said to him. “Now you be a good boy and wait until I’m done.”

It felt as though his body no longer belong to him. Sam slid across the floor and was pressed against the wall by an unseen force. He fought, but Sam couldn’t move and he was forced to watch the conflict all around him. To his relief, none of the struggle was coming near where his father had Michael. That wasn’t necessarily a good thing; it was almost as if the demon were keeping the fight away from the baby. Unfortunately, if that were true, then the demon had its own plans for his son and that thought chilled Sam right down to the bone.

Dean was also on his feet. Along with the doctor, he’d gone to Jim’s aid, but clearly there was nothing that could be done. The crossbow he’d been firing had been useless, so as soon as Joshua’s chant finished, equally ineffective, Dean pulled a scroll out of his back pocket and started an incantation of his own. So far, it didn’t appear to be working.

What Sam couldn’t figure out was, if the demon could immobilize him so effortlessly, why it wasn’t doing the same to the other hunters? His answer was the big smile on the demon’s face. It was enjoying itself.

“Sammy, you okay?” Dean was almost immediately aware that Sam had been taken out of the fight. 

Sam couldn’t even nod at his brother, but at least he could speak. “I’m all right,” he managed to shout. “Just protect yourself.”

Isaac Jones launched himself at the demon, only to be batted away. He’d been holding a stake made out of wood he and his wife had claimed earlier was anathema to demons, but it wasn’t working. The demon pinned Isaac to the floor by impaling his leg with his own stake. Dean gave Sam a look of dismay, torn between helping his brother and assisting the wounded man. 

“Go,” Sam mouthed at Dean. Dean looked anguished, but he turned towards Isaac.

The next few minutes were a stalemate. Tamara was down and Leonard Goodman stayed by her side. Sam was glad to see that the doctor hadn’t cut and run, not an easy thing for someone new to the world of the paranormal. Ellen kept up the barrage of gunshots, with Ash continuing to supply her with fresh weapons. So far their efforts weren’t making any difference, even as a distraction. 

Bobby was shaky, but mobile. He took a position in front of John and made sure nothing got through to threaten the baby. Steve Wondell and Caleb tried more esoteric weapons. That almost backfired on them, when the woomera Caleb used was turned on them. The demon threw the Aboriginal spear right back at them. Both hunters had to dive out of the way and barely managed to evade it. Daniel Elkins entered the fray again, but couldn’t seem to get a clear shot. 

No one had died but Jim. Sam had the distinct impression, though, that the demon was playing with them. Slowly, though, that changed. The attacks against the hunters took on a new viciousness as the smile dropped off the demon’s face.

Ellen took one last shot, this one hitting the demon full in the crotch. It wasn’t any more helpful than any of the others, but at least it wiped the smile off of its face.

“Woman, that is getting annoying.” The demon glared at Ellen. She gasped as the gun turned in her hands. Soon, Ellen was pressed against the wall, her gun wrapped around her neck like an obscene collar. Ash rushed to help her, along with Richie, but their tugging on it was ineffective. “Say hello to Bill for me.”

And then a voice called out above the mayhem.

“It’s afraid,” Missouri called out to them, her normally sweet voice strained with fear. “Something in this room can kill it and it’s afraid.”

The demon roared and made a motion in her direction. The ceiling above her would have come crashing down on the psychic, but Richie made a diving leap at her and managed to get them both clear.

The attack against Missouri, coupled with her words, invigorated the hunters and their attack redoubled. Caleb picked up a flail and charged the demon, shouting as he leapt forward.

With a casual flick of the wrist, Caleb was pinned on the wall opposite from Sam. Unlike Sam, however, the demon wasn’t content to just leave him there. The demon stooped and picked up an axe that Wondell had used and discarded earlier. Richie, who was the latest to try a spell, started chanting faster and Dean took over with Ellen’s guns, but it was no use. While the others could only watch, horrified, the demon approached the helpless man.

“Timber!” The demon called out gleefully. It lifted the axe and made a smooth chopping motion. There was a loud thunk as the weapon cut through Caleb’s neck and sunk into the wall behind him. Caleb’s eyes were still open wide as the blood spurted and his head tumbled off the rest of his body to bounce on the floor.

“You know, kids,” the demon said in a conversational tone as it licked the blood from its fingers. “This has been a bundle of kicks and giggles, but I still have work to do. As much fun as we’ve had, it’s time to bring this party to an end.”

The hunters braced themselves for another onslaught, but the demon’s next attack wasn’t directed to the group. To Sam’s horror, Dean started sliding across the floor.

“No,” Sam whispered. His worst fear was coming true.

“Sammy, you remember your promise,” Dean’s eyes were anguished, but his voice was firm as he called out to his brother. His back hit the wall and he started sliding up. “You hear me? You remember your promise!”

“Oh, God, no,” John’s voice was so hoarse that Sam barely recognized it. 

Despite his concern for Dean, Sam spared his father a glance. John’s face was ashen, but he held Michael sheltered protectively in his arms. It occurred to Sam, in a frantic burst of thought, of how cruel it had been to shove the baby into his dad’s arms and demand that he protect him. John Winchester had waited over 20 years for this fight and, because of his grandson, was forced to stand on the sidelines instead of participating. Even so, Sam couldn’t find it in himself to be sorry. Other than Dean, their dad was the best choice to keep Michael safe and that was more important than anything else.

“Take me instead,” John pleaded with the demon. “Just leave Dean alone.”

“No can do, John Boy,” the demon replied. Its eyes were fixed on Dean. “Your time will come; it’s just a lot more fun to watch you lose everyone you care about first.” It turned to grin at John. “I’m kind of a stinker that way.”

Sam was vaguely aware of the other hunters continuing their attacks, but he paid no attention to them. Dean slid to the top of the wall and onto the ceiling. After his first outburst to Sam, Dean remained silent, but his eyes moved from Sam’s face, to Michael and back again.

Once Dean was on the ceiling, Sam knew what was coming next. It still wasn’t easy to watch as a line of red started spreading across Dean’s stomach. Dean grimaced, but didn’t cry out in pain.

“Remember your promise, Sammy,” Dean gasped. “You keep this son of a bitch from touching Mikey.”

“Oh, I’m going to do more than touch,” the demon taunted him. “Your boy belongs to me, just like Sammy.” He turned towards Sam. “You just stay there, Psychic Boy, while I gut and burn your brother; then we can chat about junior.”

The fear that had been Sam’s companion for weeks flared and hardened into anger. Instead of letting the emotion overwhelm him, however, he used it. Ever fiber of Sam’s considerable strength of will coalesced into one single thought. The demon’s comment about Sam’s abilities had clearly intended to be cruel, but it reminded Sam that he wasn’t entirely helpless.

Power that he normally didn’t even like to acknowledge that he possessed ripped through Sam’s head. It felt like his skull would explode and Sam could feel the warmth as blood trickled out of his nose and ears. Ever since the night at Max Miller’s house, when Sam had used the power of his mind to move things, he’d tried to forget he had the ability. Now he used it, heedless of the personal damage it might cause.

“No,” Sam grated out. Dean’s bleeding had increased, but the fire hadn’t started. Yet. Sam knew he only had a few moments. He poured everything he had into accomplishing one thing. “S-T-O-P.”

Amazingly, it worked. The demon froze in its tracks, its face contorted as its glee gave way to shock. The hunters attacking it didn’t seem aware that anything had changed, but John immediately was. He took one look at the strain in Sam’s face and realized that they had one last chance.

“Hit it now, people!” John yelled to the others. “Everything. Don’t hold anything back!”

The hunters responded, but they’d already been going all out. There wasn’t much more for them to hurl at the demon that they hadn’t already tried. Someone had managed to free Ellen, who was trying to catch her breath as Missouri tended to her. Ash and Richie had taken over Ellen’s stash of guns, but they’d finally run out of weapons. Tamara and Issac Jones were wounded, and Leonard Goodman was taking care of them. Jim and Caleb were dead. Bobby and Steve Wondell were mobile, Bobby’s face desperate as he rooted around for a weapon they hadn’t tried yet.

Back in the corner, almost forgotten, Daniel Elkins took aim with the ancient Colt that he’d brought to the fight, but so far had been unable to fire. As Sam held the demon immobile, Elkins saw his chance and pulled the trigger.

Sam almost physically felt the bullet leave the Colt’s barrel. He knew when he heard the shot that it would work. Sam’s grip on the demon had loosened its hold on him, so Sam was moving as the bullet hit. He didn’t see the bullet strike and the resulting blackness spread across the demon’s face as it died. Sam was more interested in getting underneath Dean before he fell.

Dean dropped from the ceiling without a sound. Sam didn’t catch him, Dean was far too heavy for that, but he did break the fall. Dean landed on top of him, but Sam couldn’t tell if he was conscious or not. “Dean?”

Complete silence descended on the cabin, broken by a baby’s wail as Michael started to cry.

Sam looked over his shoulder to where their father was holding Michael. The baby looked okay, if sobbing, but John looked shell-shocked. As Sam watched, John shook himself and looked more aware. He bounced the baby on his hip as he approached what was left of the demon.

“M’ky?”

At the sound of his brother’s weak voice, Sam’s head turned back around with a snap. Dean’s eyes fluttered open in reaction to their son’s distress.

“He’s fine, Dean,” Sam reassured him. “We did it, Dean. The demon’s dead and Michael’s safe.”

Dean blinked up at him. “Y’re bleedin’, S’mmy.”

“Me?” Sam snorted in disbelief. Dean had been practically gutted and he was worried about Sam. “Dean, I’m fine.” He lifted his head, looking for Dr. Goodman. “We need help here!”

The doctor trotted over, cursing under his breath. “You want to see something paranormal? Come to Virginia, help me help out a friend of mine. Caleb didn’t say anything about throats getting ripped out or heads rolling from bodies.”

Goodman dropped to his knees by Dean’s side and pried Sam’s hands away from the wound. Sam tightened his grip on Dean as his brother gasped. Sam had to hide his face in Dean’s hair. He couldn’t look at the slice across Dean’s belly, preferring to draw in a deep breath of Dean’s scent.

“Doc, he gonna be okay?” It was John asking. He’d left the corpse of the demon’s host and was standing beside them. Michael’s cries continued, but since they were proof that the baby was alive, Sam didn’t mind.

“It’s deep, but I don’t think the entire abdominal wall’s been compromised,” Leonard Goodman responded. “Otherwise his guts would be hanging out.”

Sam glared at the man, not liking his bedside manner, but his expression softened as he realized that Leonard’s hands were gentle as he probed Dean’s injury. “He’s losing a lot of blood.”

Dr. Goodman had his supplies in a backpack and dug through it until he found a syringe. “Here, this will help with the pain.” He injected Dean and then went back to the pack, searching through it until he came up with package of gauze. He ripped it open as he replied to Sam’s comment. “He’s going to need more help than I can give him here. Blood’s just the beginning. He needs to be stitched up in a sterile environment and checked for internal injuries.” 

Dean relaxed as the drugs took effect and Sam gave a big sigh of relief. He was glad beyond belief that his brother had survived, but hated to see him hurt.

“I’ll call Dana, maybe she can find us a place he can be treated,” John stepped away, pulling out his cell phone. Michael’s crying started to taper off and the baby hiccupped. “Now that the demon’s dead, it should be safe to involve her.” He stopped abruptly, a look of wonder on his face. “We did it, boys. It’s dead; the thing that killed your mother is really dead.”

Sam knew he should be rejoicing, but he was too worried. “I’m more interested on who’s still alive. Are you sure Michael’s okay?” 

Their father nodded. “He’s fine, just a little frightened. He didn’t cry during the whole fight; what a trooper.”

“He’s a W’chester,” Dean slurred, dragging his eyes open to look on his son with pride. “Tough.”

“Just like his dad,” Sam murmured, kissing the top of Dean’s head.

“S’mantha,” Dean accused him, but he didn’t try to pull away.

The next few minutes were a blur. Sam was aware of the other hunters moving around them and was grateful that so many had survived, but mostly he was focused on his brother in his arms and the sight of his son being held by their father a few feet away. The death of the monster that had haunted their family didn’t seem nearly as real.

John wandered back, a satisfied look on his face. “Okay, I got hold of Dana. She’s not too happy with us at the moment, but has a hospital we can take our wounded to.” His smile was grim. “I guess that husband of hers gets into so much trouble that they’re used to treating odd wounds and not asking many questions.”

“Which husband?” Sam murmured. His dad only grimaced.

Dean’s was the worst injury, but not the only one. Tamara Jones had taken a slice to her side and her husband, Isaac, had a deep puncture wound in his calf. Steve Wondell had a broken collarbone, Ellen still wasn’t breathing easily, and Missouri looked like she might have a concussion. The others sported various scrapes and bruises, but were mostly okay.

Bobby took charge. “Richie and Elkins will stay behind with me and do clean-up duty.” He tossed John his keys. “Take my truck; Dean’ll never forgive us if you get blood on his precious upholstery.”

Someone had found a tarp and they rolled Dean on it so it could be used as a make-shift stretcher. Sam was heartily glad that Leonard had given his brother pain medication. No doubt the movement was painful for the wounded man, but Dean never made a sound. Sam took one corner, with their dad, Richie and Bobby hefting the other sides while Ellen held Michael. 

As they passed the spot where the demon fell, Dean’s hand came up to grip Sam’s wrist. “Wanna see, S’mmy.”

No one begrudged him. They brought Dean over to the demon’s corpse, but there wasn’t much left of it. All of the wounds they had inflicted during the fight, the ones that the demon had healed, had reappeared at its death. The body was barely recognizable as human, it had so much damage to it. Ellen, it turned out, had been a damn fine shot.

Dean stared at it for several moments, becoming more clear as he looked at their fallen enemy. “That was for our mom, you son of a bitch. And Jessica.”

Sam’s grip on the tarp tightened. Mentally, he added Dean and Michael’s name to the list. “Come on, let’s go.”

And they walked out of the cabin and away from the demon’s remains, not giving it a backward glance.

~to be continued in Demon Fight, part 6~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted April 23, 2008


	86. Demon Fight, part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is six months old.

Dean did not take the simple pleasure of waking up in his own bed for granted. Less than a week ago, his very survival had been in doubt, followed by a hospital stay that lasted for days. He hated his body’s weakness with a passion, but he knew how lucky it was that the confrontation with the demon hadn’t turned out worse.

A pang of guilt went through him. Jim and Caleb were dead; several others besides Dean injured. Lucky or not, their group had not come out of the fight unscathed.

Although Dean had been home for a little over 24 hours, that morning had been the first he’d been allowed out of bed for any length of time. Sam had helped him take a shower. Normally something like that would lead up to some slippery fun, but Dean hadn’t been up for it. In fact, the quick shower had worn him out, necessitating a nap before lunchtime.

He shifted on the bed and winced as the movement caused the slice across his belly to throb. There were some uncomfortable similarities to giving birth and being cut open by a demon. One, his gut hurt and, two, he was as weak as a kitten. There were even related outcomes. Giving birth had resulted in Michael, whereas the fight with the demon resulted in Michael’s safety. All things considered, Dean figured he could put up with a little pain. 

Dean sighed, wincing as the deep breath caused another twinge. “Damn it.” Grateful to be alive or not, Dean was still impatient with the slow rate that he was healing.

“Everything okay in here, son?” His father asked as he came in through the door. 

Dean glared at the food tray his dad was hefting. “Just peachy. So you got drafted to feed the invalid, huh?” Privately, he wondered where Sam was. His brother had been hovering for days and, while he claimed to resent that, Dean actually missed it now that Sam wasn’t there. He didn’t say the words aloud, though, and struggled to sit up.

“Sam is putting Michael down for his nap,” John informed him. “And since none of others were willing to come in here with food, you’re stuck with me.” He placed the tray on Dean’s lap. “It’s your own damn fault; you shouldn’t have made Bobby cry yesterday.”

At first, Dean just stared at his father blankly. John Winchester simply was not the kind of man that joked around. It was true that Dean had snapped at Bobby the day before, when Bobby had brought him a dinner that consisted of Jell-O and chicken broth, but the idea of Bobby crying about it was ridiculous.

Really ridiculous.

A smile tugged at Dean’s lips, followed by a chuckle. The laughter caused pain from his gut wound, though, and he held himself cautiously. “Don’t make me laugh, Dad, it hurts.”

His father grinned at him. “Suck it up, Dean. You’re a Winchester and Winchesters laugh in the face of pain.”

Although Dean knew that his dad grieved deeply for Jim and Caleb, he was also aware that his father had to be immensely relieved that his family was safe and that his wife was revenged. Even so, this new, less grim John Winchester would take a little getting used to.

“Sucking it up is all I can do,” Dean griped as he got a close look at his lunch tray. “Dana’s punishing me with this liquid diet.”

“Part of your abdominal wall was perforated,” John pointed out. “You’ve got one more day of liquids and then you can graduated to soft foods like applesauce. Maybe Michael will share some of his baby food.” 

Dean scowled as he dipped his spoon into the broth and listlessly stirred it. “Yum.”

His father actually laughed. “Try the soup; you might like it in spite of yourself.”

Reluctantly, Dean took a taste and was pleasantly surprised by the rich, savory tastes that filled his mouth. “Huh, that is good.”

John settled in the chair next to Dean’s bed. “Your Ms. Devereaux brought it by. Said if you had to be restricted to fluids, you might appreciate something not out of a can.”

“She still here?” Dean asked, eating with more enthusiasm.

“No, but she said she’d stop by tomorrow,” John answered. “She mentioned that she had something to give back to you.”

As he continued to eat, Dean became aware of his father watching his every move. He suppressed another scowl. His family’s hovering was another similarity between giving birth and almost getting killed by a demon. He got it that they were worried, but he was fine now that he’d had a few days to heal. It wasn’t like he was going to blow away with the wind the moment they turned their backs.

Dean quickly finished the soup and moved on to the Jell-O. It was the red kind, someone apparently having learned from Bobby’s mistake the day before. With any luck, green Jell-O would never appear on Dean’s plate again. Sooner than he thought, Dean was full and he pushed the tray away.

“You know, if Mikey’s going down for a nap,” Dean suggested. “You could put the baby monitor in here. I’ve got nothing better to do, I can keep an ear out for him.”

“Nice try,” his dad said as he lifted the tray from Dean’s legs and put it on the floor. “Even if you heard Michael cry, there isn’t anything you could do about it. You know you’re not supposed to lift anything over ten pounds.”

And Michael weighed 15 pounds.

Dean let the scowl appear at the reminder. It sucked, not being able to pick up his son for six weeks. How do you explain that to a baby, especially when the infant’s crying because he wants his daddy? Unfortunately, it was a restriction that Dana had been firm on and had made sure that both Sam and their father understood that.

“I swear that woman’s punishing me,” Dean muttered. “I told her that the iron pills sucked, big time. Not my fault that I was right.”

“Dana’s not angry with you Dean,” John pointed out, unusually gentle about it. “She’s just worried about you; we all are. We almost lost you again.”

Dana had been a little hurt when she found out she’d not been told about the demon fight. A practical woman, she knew she couldn’t be a part of it, but to have not even been informed about it was a little over protective as far as she was concerned. Sam had told Dean, however, that Walter Skinner had pulled him and John aside later, to thank them. Dana’s pregnancy was going well, but with only a few weeks left until her due date, she hadn’t needed the extra stress. Her husbands appreciated the Winchesters’ consideration, even if the lady herself didn’t.

“I’m fine,” Dean told his father. “Or I will be soon. You guys don’t need to treat me like I’m made out of glass or anything.”

“Seeing you almost bleed to death twice in six months is a little much to take,” John replied mildly. “You’ll just have to be patient with us.”

“Patient?” Dean snorted, grimacing when it caused a minor twinge. “Now there’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

“Watch the attitude,” John’s face darkened a little bit. “I’m cutting you some slack because you’re hurt, but I’ll find some unpleasant chores that a bedridden man can do if you keep that up.”

The sternness was familiar and caused Dean to relax a little. “Yes, sir.”

John took a look at the clock on the wall. “Are you up for a little trip down the hallway?”

Dean considered. He’d just had a nap and food; he should be good to go. “I think so. Why?”

“Bobby and some of the others are leaving this afternoon to escort Jim’s ashes to Minnesota,” his father explained quiet voice. “I thought you might like to say goodbye before they go and would appreciate being out of this bed to do it.”

Dean’s mood grew solemn. Like most hunters preferred, Jim Murphy had been cremated. Having friends in the FBI had helped with death certificate and releasing the body, so they’d had no trouble making his death look official. Sam had reported that Bobby had done most of the clean-up work. With Richie and Daniel Elkins’ help, he’d torched the cabin. The man it had been rented from wasn’t at all upset at its destruction and was actually looking forward to getting the insurance money. Since the man’s cousin was the county sheriff, no one had looked at the fire too closely. 

Burning the cabin had destroyed most of the messy details of the fight. Unlike Jim, Caleb was pretty much off the legal grid, so Leonard Goodman had claimed his body. It turned out that Caleb had been part Native American and Leonard assured them that his remains would be dealt with in the traditional way. Of the demon’s host, very little had remained. To be on the safe side, Bobby had taken Richie and they’d buried it across the state line. The host’s corpse was so badly damaged that there was no way to identify who it had been and therefore no way to notify his family.

“Did anyone decide on what to tell Jim’s congregation?” Dean asked. 

His mother’s death had pretty much destroyed any religious beliefs that Dean had, but he and Sam had spent a lot of time with Jim when their dad was hunting. As a result, they’d hung around Jim’s church a lot. The ladies there had doted on the two motherless boys and Dean knew they’d be devastated at Jim’s death. 

“They knew that he was visiting us,” John explained. “So they’re going to tell the congregation that Jim was killed during a mugging and that he was protecting you after you were hurt keeping the mugger away from Michael.”

Dean considered. While the macho hunter in him didn’t like the thought of anyone thinking he wasn’t able to take out a simple mugger, the fact was that Jim died saving him and Michael. It was only fitting that he be recognized for that.

“That’s good,” Dean gave his approval to the plan. “Who’s going and when are they heading out?”

“Bobby, Ellen, Ash, Elkins, and Missouri.” John ticked them off one by one.

Joshua and Steve Wondell had left right away, before Dean was aware of much of anything. Joshua had a small child at home to get back to and Wondell was a notorious loner. Tamara and Isaac Jones had joined Dean at the hospital, but only overnight. They’d said their goodbyes the next day and Dean was glad that he’d been too out of it to participate; it was awkward to express gratitude to people they hardly knew.

“And Richie?” Dean asked. He’d been surprised at how well his friend had done in the fight.

John shrugged. “Don’t know. He’s been pretty quiet.” He gave Dean a closer look. “You sure you’re up to going out there? I know that Bobby and Missouri will want to say goodbye, but they can come in here.”

“No way,” Dean stated firmly as he started easing his legs to the side of the mattress. “I am not giving Missouri a chance to tell me to get my lazy ass out of bed.”

After moving the covers back, Dean pushed himself up on one elbow and, then bracing himself, sat on the edge of the mattress. As his father reached for him, Dean stood, pushing off the bed with one arm while keep the other wrapped firmly around his stomach. His wound was already closed, but it still felt like his innards were going to spill out.

“Whoa there, Dean,” John cautioned him as he grabbed for his elbow. “Take it slow.”

Dean swayed a little on his feet, but waved off his father’s helping hands. “I got it, I got it.” With little grace, he started shuffling towards the bathroom.

“Where are you going?” His dad asked him. 

“Gotta use the head,” Dean said over his shoulder. “If that’s all right?”

His father shook his head. “Of course it’s all right, just watch the attitude.”

Dean entered the small bathroom and turned on the light. Some genius had put a mirror in there and he grimaced at his reflection. He was still pale, which caused his freckles to be particularly noticeable. Because of the cut in his abdomen, wearing clothes was difficult. Most of Dean’s things were too tight and irritated the wound. They’d finally put a pair of Sam’s sweatpants on him, since they were loose enough not to pull on his stomach. Sam was a lot taller than Dean, though, so the bottoms had to be rolled up. The same was true of the shirt, which came down almost to Dean’s knees.

With the freckles and the too-big clothes, Dean looked like a twelve year-old. Dean put up with it, not just because he felt rotten enough that his vanity wasn’t impacted, but also because of the way Sam’s face softened whenever he got a look at him. The past month had been rough on Dean’s little brother, so anything that lightened that perpetual worried look on his face was something that could be put up with.

After doing his business and washing his hands, Dean shuffled his way back to the bedroom. His father was waiting for him. John carried the empty tray in one hand and put a supportive hand on Dean’s back with the other. Dean didn’t need John long. As soon as they entered the hallway, they encountered Sam, who was coming out of Michael’s room.

“Hey, you’re up,” Sam spoke quietly. His grin lit up the whole area. “That’s great.”

“Yeah, I wanna say goodbye,” Dean explained. He nodded towards the bedroom. “Mikey okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Sam replied. With a nod to their father, he replaced John at Dean’s side. One hand went to the small of Dean’s back, while the other took a firm grip on Dean’s elbow. “He was a little excited at having all the people here, so it took a little while to get him down, but he’s sleeping now.”

Dean sighed. “Man, getting back to the regular routine’s going to be a bitch.”

“First things first,” Sam cautioned him as they made their slow way into the living room. “Getting you well again takes priority.”

“Well, look what the cat drug in,” Bobby saw them right away. “Dean, you’re looking downright human.”

“Boy, what are you doing out of bed?” Missouri confronted him before Dean could respond. “You sit that skinny behind of yours down before you fall down and undo all that hard work Dr. Scully put in fixing you.”

Sam lead Dean to the overstuffed chair and helped him ease down into it. The Winchesters didn’t have a lot of furniture in their living room and most of it was full of hunters. Sam didn’t bother trying to find a chair. He just settled on the floor at Dean’s feet and leaned his head against Dean’s knee. Smiling, Dean slipped his fingers into Sam’s hair.

“We were just talking about Daniel’s gun,” Bobby explained. Elkins had filled the other hunters in on the Colt’s history. “It’s a powerful weapon.”

“Damn straight it is,” Elkins snapped. “Some people think I’m too old to hunt, but I did all right in this fight.”

“That you did,” John agreed. “Just keep it someplace safe, old man.” The other hunters looked at John in surprise, obviously expecting him to object to Elkins keeping the gun. He just shrugged.

There was an awkward silence, which Bobby broke by getting up.

“Well, sitting around jawing isn’t going to get us to Minnesota any faster,” he approached Dean. “Do me a favor, Dean. No more ceilings.”

Dean struggled to his feet, Sam jumping to his feet to assist. “I think I can manage that.”

Bobby pulled Dean into a careful hug. “Wherever he is, Jim is happy that you and Michael are safe. He loved you.” Bobby whispered in a voice only loud enough for Dean to hear. “And Caleb loved a good fight. He always knew he’d go down swinging.”

Swallowing against the sudden emotion Bobby’s words caused, Dean held on tight to the back of Bobby’s shirt. “Thanks, Bobby.”

When he let go and stepped back, Bobby was blinking hard. “I’ll be back in a couple of months and I’ll bring Xena with me. Her training ought to be finished by then.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” Sam had put a steadying arm around Dean’s waist. “We appreciate everything.”

Bobby shook his head. “Were you listnin’ the other day? You don’t thank family.”

“Don’t you pay him no mind, Sam or Dean,” Missouri came up behind Bobby. “You can be polite to family just as well as you can other folks.” She reached for Sam. “Now come give me some sugar.”

With a soft laugh, Sam let go of Dean and bent to hug the shorter psychic. After his brother was done, Dean moved forward, but Missouri stopped him with a raised hand.

“Oh, honey, don’t,” she told him. “You’re in no shape to be bending down. Let me come to you.” Missouri stood on her tip toes and hugged Dean very, very gently. When they were done, she stepped back from both of them.

“The two of you are good boys,” Missouri stated. “That’s right, even you, Dean Winchester. And you’re even better fathers. It was a pleasure to help you. I was there at the beginning of your father’s search for what killed your mother; it was only fitting that I be there are the end.”

“Thanks, Missouri,” Sam replied.

Dean got over his surprise at receiving a compliment from her. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Don’t be expecting to get a hug from me,” Daniel Elkins moved by the brothers, not even stopping when Sam held out his hand for a handshake. He walked out of the house without a backward glance.

Ash, however, did stop to shake both of their hands. “Cool fight, dudes.” He looked at Sam with a little awe. “Impressive mind mojo you got going.”

“I think it was a one time thing,” Sam shrugged. “Missouri thinks I may have burned out my telekinesis. I hope so anyway.”

“Any more headaches or anything?” Dean asked. He remembered Sam bleeding after the fight, but it had taken a couple of days to get Sam to confess to what had happened.

“I’m fine, Dean,” Sam wrapped his arm around Dean’s waist again as Dean started to sway. “But I think you need to sit down again.” He helped settle Dean into the chair.

The others took that as their cue to leave. After uttering final goodbyes, Bobby, Missouri and Ash filed out of the house. Only after they were gone did Dean realize that Ellen was still sitting on the couch.

“John, could I have a minute with your boys?” Ellen asked quietly.

Their dad shot Sam and Dean a look, aware of the sudden tension in the room. Next to Dean, Sam nodded tensely. Only then did John acquiesce. “All right, I’ll make my goodbyes outside.”

After he left, Ellen took a deep breath. “Dean, I’m sure that Sam told you what he and I talked about, the night we met.”

“He said something about it,” Dean replied cautiously. He had a feeling that Sam had held something back, but hadn’t pressed. Like Sam, Dean didn’t know how offended they could be by her attitude, given that the woman had risked her life for them.

Ellen nodded briskly. “Well, I was wrong.” At their startled expressions, she smiled suddenly. “Maybe that’s the difference between a male hunter and a female hunter. I can be as big an ass as any man out there, but I can also admit when I’ve made a mistake. And I made a big one with you boys.”

“Apology accepted.” Sam’s grip on Dean tightened. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Ellen, but what made you change your mind?”

Her smile grew bittersweet. “Seeing the two of you that night. Love like that, it can’t be wrong.”

Dean cleared his throat, uncomfortable at someone he knew so little seeing them that vulnerable. “The demon, it said something about your husband?”

Ellen’s face darkened. “That’s a discussion between your daddy and me.” She stood abruptly, but slowed down when she realized that her answer had startled them a bit. “Old history, boys, and best you’re left out of it.”

Sam stood and then helped Dean up. “We do appreciate your help.”

“Anytime,” she hugged Sam hard and then Dean a little more carefully. “And if you ever need a babysitter, you know who to call. No offense, but I’m glad your son takes after you boys more than your father.”

Dean smirked. “We get that a lot. Dad’s not exactly a people person.”

She snorted and tilted her head, considering. “I’d like you to meet my daughter, Jo, some day. She’s so keen on hunting that I think it’d do her good to meet people closer to her own age that balance hunting with a normal life.”

“Well, I don’t know how well we manage that,” Sam blushed. “But we’d be happy to meet her.”

“Don’t forget about the babysitting,” Ellen smiled wryly as she left. “You got my grandma juices going.”

Dean waited until after she left to grimace. “Man, I did not need to hear about that woman’s juices. Gross.”

Sam laughed softly. “And this from the man who can be covered in monster guts without breaking a sweat.”

“Monster guts are one thing,” Dean leaned back against Sam and looked up at him through his lashes. “Grandma juices are something else.”

Before Sam could respond, the sound of a clearing throat interrupted them. Sam growled in frustration, which pleased Dean no end.

“Hey, guys,” Richie said as he came into the room, oblivious to the private moment he was interrupting. “Dean, you look like crap.”

“Yeah, well, you get to play chew toy for a demon and we’ll see how good you look,” Dean retorted. His voice softened. “Thanks, Richie. You did good.”

Richie shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “Yeah, about that. You were right; this gig was over my head.”

“You saved Missouri,” Sam pointed out. Apparently Richie’s actions that night had gone a long way to resolving Sam’s mixed feelings about the other hunter.

“I guess,” Richie admitted. “But most of the time I was busy trying not to shit myself.”

Dean snorted. “And you think we weren’t?”

“That Caleb guy wasn’t,” Richie stated seriously. “Neither was Pastor Jim.”

“There were brave men,” Sam stated quietly. “We’ll always be very grateful to both of them. And we’ll be grateful to you too.”

Richie shook his head. “Me? I’m not that brave and I sure as hell don’t want to die like that. I’m getting out while I can.”

“What are you going to do?” Dean asked. He didn’t waste any time judging the other man, since he and Sam had pretty much dropped out of hunting once Michael was born.

Richie shrugged. “My brother-in-law wants me to come work for his car dealership.”

Dean couldn’t resist teasing. “Sounds downright respectable.”

“Maybe I can do some hunting on the side.” Richie told them as he walked forward for a handshake. “And I can always give hunters a good deal on their next set of wheels.” 

“Thanks again, Richie,” Sam shook the other man’s hand vigorously.

Dean leaned forward for a cautious hug. “Yeah, man, thanks.”

Richie wagged his eyebrows at him. “You know, if you ever want to trade that Impala of yours in, I can give you a sweet deal for her.”

Sam made a show of pulling Dean back, although he did so much more carefully than it looked. “Get out while you can, Richie. I’ll hold him.”

Laughing Richie walked towards the door.

“And don’t ever come back,” Dean yelled. “We don’t want to see your ugly mug around here again.” He ruined the effect, though, by yawning hugely.

“Back to bed for you,” Sam said firmly. He put one hand on the small of Dean’s back and started propelling him forward.

“I just got out of bed,” Dean complained. “And I haven’t seen Mikey yet.”

“He’s sleeping,” Sam reminded Dean.

“So? I can be quiet.” Dean glared at his brother. “I want to see our son, Sam.”

His desperation must have got through to Sam, because he stopped protesting. “All right.”

The curtains in Michael’s room had been drawn, but the glow of sunlight still made its way through the fabric. Dean made a slow beeline for the crib. Michael was sleeping on his back, his little baby’s face turned to the side. Dean gingerly made his way over. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen his son since the confrontation, but his heart swelled at the sight of Michael, so safe and content.

As Dean’s eyes filled with tears of gratitude, Sam’s arms came around him, drawing him back into his brothers warmth. For a few quiet moments, the two fathers just watched their son sleep. Eventually, Sam started tugging Dean away and only then did Dean realize that he’d been resting more and more of his weight on Sam.

“Come on,” Sam stated quietly, so as not to wake the baby. “You’re done; back to bed now.”

Dean let himself be drawn into the hallway. “Sammy, thank you,” Dean used a hoarse whisper, even though it wasn’t really needed since they’d left Michael’s room behind.

Sam pulled Dean into their bedroom and, while Dean stood next to the bed, straightened up the covers. “For what?”

“Saving Mikey and me,” Dean was tired enough that he let Sam draw him down onto the mattress. He didn’t protest, since Sam laid down with him, curling around Dean like a breathing body pillow.

“Seems to me that Daniel Elkins did that,” Sam retorted. He wrapped his arms around Dean and rested his hands gently over Dean’s stomach. “He was the one with the Colt and it was his shot that killed it.”

Dean fought the sleep that threatened to overcome him. “But you held the demon so that he could hit it. I was there, Sammy, I know what I saw.”

Sam buried his face in the back of Dean’s neck. “I’m trying not to think about it. I hope Missouri’s right and my gifts are gone.”

“Does it matter?” Dean yawned and then pushed back to be closer to Sam. “The demon’s dead; it can’t use you anymore.”

Try as he did, Dean couldn’t stay awake long enough to hear Sam’s answer. He drifted off to sleep in Sam’s arms in the knowledge that his son and his brother both were no longer in danger.

The rumbling in his belly woke him. There was no longer a Samzilla-sized warmth at his back, so Dean knew immediately that Sam was no longer in bed with him. He stretched, hissing when the movement kicked off the pain in his abdomen. Sighing, Dean opened his eyes. From the ruddy tint of the sunlight coming from outside, he could tell he’d slept for some time.

Maybe Michael was awake.

The thought was enough to inspire Dean to struggle to sit up, despite the way his injured body had stiffened up while he slept. Before he could force himself to his feet, though, the door opened and Sam came him. Best yet, he was holding Michael. The baby made a happy sound when he saw Dean and immediately held his arms out for his father. 

“There’s my big guy,” Dean grinned ear to ear and reached for the baby.

“Na-huh,” Sam chided. Dean spared him a bare glance and thought there was something strange-looking about his brother, but most of his attention was for Michael. “You can’t pick him up.” 

“Sam. . . .”

Sam was firm. “You can’t pick him up and you know it; but I can put him on the bed by you.”

As he spoke, Sam put action to words and placed the baby on the mattress next to Dean. Michael wobbled as he tried to wiggle closer to his dad. Dean laughed gently and steadied him.

“That’s your Daddy Sammy being mean to you,” Dean told the baby. Michael giggled up at him. “But don’t you worry, six weeks will go by real fast.” He became smug as something occurred to him. “And until then, Daddy Sam’s just going to have to handle all of your diapers, because I’m not supposed to lift anything heavy.”

Sam laughed softly. “Hey, I don’t mind.”

Dean looked away from the baby long enough to see if Sam was as sincere as he sounded. As he did, Dean did a double take. When they’d settled for their nap, Sam’s hair was its typical messy mop, but something had changed. Sam’s hair was still long at the back, but the front was short. . . .

“Sammy, what did you do to your hair?” Dean asked in a choked voice.

“Dad cut it for me,” Sam shook his head as if to show off his new look. “You know, business in the front, party in the back. Just like I promised.”

Dean sputtered. “Dude, I was joking about you getting a mullet.”

“Well, you should have told me that,” Sam shrugged as he settled on the bed next to Dean and Michael.

“Of all the times for you to take what I said seriously,” Dean reached out for Sam’s hair, already lamenting his ill-conceived words. The rest of Sam’s hair would have to be cut short to match the front. Sam was geeky enough without adding a mullet.

As Dean’s fingers caressed Sam’s hair, he realized that they felt sticky. “What the hell?” Sam’s grin gave it away. “Dude, is this hair gel?”

Sam snickered.

“Oh, you think that’s funny, do you?” Dean growled with mock anger. “Well, two can play at that game.”

“You’d never touch your hair,” Sam told him, just a little too smug about it.

Dean glared at him. “You think so? Well, it just so happens that I always wanted a Mohawk.” Sam’s smile faded and Dean felt triumphant. “Blue, I think. With black fingernail polish and maybe a kilt.”

“That’s not fair,” Sam pouted, but from where Dean lay, he could see the mischievous twinkle in his younger brother’s eyes. “I just gave you what you asked for. You have to learn to be careful of what you wish for, Dean, because you might just get it.”

Dean looked around the bedroom, which was located in the home he’d created with Sam. Their family was safe, Mom and Jessica were avenged, and Michael would never have to worry about the demon coming for him. 

Be careful of what he wished for? Not a god damned chance.

~this is the end of Demon Fight; Baby Steps will now go back to the short, non-chronological ficlets~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on April 23, 2008


	87. Picnic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is three years old.

The Winchester brothers had become more domestic since having a child and settling down, but not so much that they were willing to risk poisoning dozens of people. With that in mind, they stopped on the way to Sam’s department picnic to purchase a gallon of potato salad instead of bringing food that one of them had made. 

Sam was in his second year in the university’s graduate program and, since he knew the other grad students and faculty, there wasn’t the anxiety that accompanied a situation with new people. It was, however, his first big gathering since becoming pregnant and he was a little self-conscious about keeping his condition a secret. In fact, since it was ‘his’ picnic, normally Sam would be the one in the grocery store picking up what they needed, but Dean had insisted and Sam had let him do it. Sam’d promised Dean that he’d let his brother fuss over him when he was pregnant and Sam was trying to hard to keep that promise. He felt perfectly capable of carrying a container of potato salad, but Dean had glowered at him when he’d offered and Sam had quickly backed down.

With an energetic three year-old, not to mention said three year-old’s dog, a simple trip to the store could become a big production. Sam stayed out in the car with Michael and Xena while Dean went inside. Sam had started a game of Eye Spy with his son to pass the time. He told himself firmly that it was just a game and not training. The fact that it helped the little boy become more observant was just a happy byproduct. For Michael, it was fun and that was what was important to Sam.

“Is it the flowers, DaSa?” Michael asked as he petted Xena’s head. “The flowers in the basket?”

Michael was only three and a half, so Sam had kept the game pretty easy. “That’s exactly it, Michael, good job,” he praised the boy. “You’re good at this game.”

As Michael giggled, Dean came out of the store and approached the car. 

“Okay, one bucket of spuds, with mayo, mustard and pickle,” Dean declared as he opened the door and got in. “We are good to go.”

“DeeDee, DaSa and I were playin’ and I guessed that he picked the flowers,” Michael told Dean.

“Of course he picked the flowers, your DaSa’s secretly a girl,” Dean replied. He grinned as Sam rolled his eyes. “Hey, Mikey, did you sing that song I taught you to DaSa yet?”

“Nope,” Michael answered and then proceeded to sing. “Here's the story, of a lovely lady, who was bringing up three very lovely girls. . . .” Xena howled, not even close to being in harmony.

“Oh, you suck,” Sam murmured underneath his breath as Dean started the car. Dean, characteristically, chuckled evilly as he pulled out of the parking lot.

Choruses of ‘That’s the way we became the Brady Bunch,’ were still ringing through the Impala as they pulled into the park. Sam and Dean exchanged a significant look. Since the environment of the university was pretty liberal, they were openly a couple with Sam’s school crowd. Letting slip that Sam was pregnant, though, was a whole ‘nother story.

“Michael, remember what we said about your brother,” Sam warned his son. “We know that you’re really excited that he’s coming, but you can’t tell anybody.”

“I know, DaSa,” Michael said with the long-suffering sigh of a child who’s been reminded more often than he thinks is necessary. “Brother’s our secret.”

“Because if people knew your DaSa could have a baby, then everybody would want a daddy that can make babies.” Dean added. “Since they can’t, that’d just make them sad.”

“I know,” Michael repeated. “A secret means you don’t tell nobody.”

Given Michael’s gift of empathy, he probably did know how serious his fathers were on that point. Still, Michael was only three and Sam worried. There was nothing to do about it that they hadn’t already done, though, so he tried to put it in the back of his mind.

“All right, let’s go have some fun,” Sam suggested. “I bet there’ll be other kids for you to play with.”

Michael laughed and clapped. Normally these types of events were torture for Dean, but seeing their little boy so excited went a long way to mollifying him. Sam got out and opened up the back door for Michael. The little boy had already undone his buckle and all but spilled out of the Impala. Xena was right behind him. Since the park was dog-friendly, the Winchesters felt comfortable in bringing her along. Given Bobby’s training, she was perfectly fine around other people — as long as they didn’t threaten Michael.

Sam wasn’t the only one with children and the presence of a dog pretty much guaranteed Michael to be a popular little boy. Soon, he was surrounded by other kids.

“DaSa, DeeDee, can I play?” Michael asked.

Dean answered before Sam could. “I need your help unloading the car first.”

Much to Sam’s exasperation, Dean had already had a couple of talks with Michael about Sam’s condition and how Michael would need to be a big boy and help out while his younger father was pregnant. Michael took his duties as a soon-to-be big brother seriously and hadn’t fussed. “Okay.”

Since there wasn’t the lawn chair built that could accommodate Sam’s height, they’d brought tall director’s chairs for themselves. Folded, those were tucked under one of Dean’s arms. One hand carried the cooler holding their drinks, while the other had the potato salad. A backpack was slung across Dean’s back, containing sundry items like suntan lotion and hats. Michael carried his child-sized chair and a Frisbee, while Xena had her water bowl gripped in her teeth.

Sam was allowed to carry only the old blanket they’d brought with them and was flushed with embarrassment that he wasn’t hefting more. Even so, he didn’t dare complain to his older brother. The other grad students didn’t know Sam was pregnant, but Dean did and he’d be damned if Sam had to lift anything even remotely heavy.

“Dean,” Abby, one of Sam’s fellow grad students, called out as the family approached. She saw Sam every weekday, but since it was still fairly early in the school year, she hadn’t seen Dean for a while. “It’s good to see you.”

“Hey,” Dean replied easily. He got along well with Abby, maybe because she was a lesbian and so Dean was confident that she wasn’t lusting after his Sam. “Lookin’ good, Abs. Hey, is that barbecue that I smell?” 

She grinned. “It’s too bad I don’t want a man, because I know how to attract them. Forget the French perfume and go straight for eau de ribs.”

“Straight has nothing to do with it,” a man about Dean’s age muttered.

Sam was tempted to glare at him, but knew it would only egg the other student on. “Richard.” He couldn’t bring himself to make his greeting any better than a terse utterance of the man’s name, but it was more than he got in reply. Richard Barkley just grunted and wandered off towards the grill.

“DeeDee, can I play now?” Michael was bouncing in eagerness, but even in the midst of his impatience, he knew which parent to ask. If Sam’s wellbeing were at stake, even with something like carrying picnic supplies, then Dean was the ultimate authority.

“Go ahead,” Dean told him, after throwing Sam a quick glance to make sure he concurred. “Just stay where we can see you.”

“I will!” Michael promised as he ran to join the other kids.

The warning had pretty much been unnecessary. There was a small play ground near the picnic site and they could easily keep an eye on their son. Besides, Xena bounded after the child; a more thorough body guard than any mere human.

“Go,” Dean made a shooing motion at Sam. “Mingle. I’ll take care of this stuff.”

Since there wasn’t much to take care of, just a couple of chairs to unfold, Sam capitulated. As he turned to his colleagues, though, he was confronted by one sneering face.

“I see you have him well-trained,” Richard poorly hid his snide attitude behind a bad joke. “I suppose having a brute around has its uses.”

None of the others laughed, for which Sam was grateful. It was his second year as a grad student, but his first as a research assistant. It was a plum assignment, since it included some lecture duties to undergrads, and there had been a lot of competition for it. Sam, however, had long been acknowledged the front-runner, since Professor Tropa had been all but begging him to take an assistantship since Sam had joined the Anthropology department. Richard had been interested in the position and was not handling the rejection graciously.

Before Sam could form an appropriate comeback, Dean stepped up behind him and wrapped his arms around Sam’s thickening waist.

“It’s been a long time since the Mesolithic, dude,” Dean told Richard with a bland smile that hid the angry spark in his eyes. “Hunting and gathering is so Before Common Era.” His grin widened. “Isn’t that right. . . Dick?”

No one called Richard by any nickname, let alone that one. Sam bit back a smile and then something hit him.

“Hey, you were listening,” Sam usually practiced his lectures on Dean. While his brother had always been an attentive audience, Sam had no idea that Dean had been listening so closely.

“I always listen to you, Sammy,” Dean looked affronted that Sam had assumed he hadn’t.

Sam grinned, not caring that his dimples made him look twelve years old and right in front of his co-workers too. “Good answer.”

They kissed quickly and, by the time they were done, Richard had sulked off. Anne, the wife of another student, slapped her husband, Greg, on the arm. “Are you taking notes?”

Greg looked at Dean and mock scowled. “Tone it down, will you? You’re making the rest of us guys look bad.”

“Hey,” Dean retorted. “Not my fault you’re straight and can’t be good with the sensitive crap like us gay guys.”

The joking lightened the tense mood that Richard’s comment had made and soon the conversation was lively. The children ran in a pack, to and from the play yard, whooping and having a good time. Even Dean relaxed, if slowly, losing the intimidation he always suffered when surrounded by scholars. It helped that other spouses were there and that most of them had jobs outside of academics. Even Richard had rejoined the group, but was making such an effort to be polite that Sam let his guard down. 

It was almost his undoing.

The food was basic, just hamburgers and hotdogs, but filling. The parents among the group managed to settle their kids down to eat, but not for long. No more had they bolted their lunch down before they were off running again. Seeing that Dean was content to be talking to Greg and Sondra, Abby’s life partner, about the latest movie in the Batman franchise, Sam settled in for a long chat with Abby about painting techniques. Abby and Sondra were starting to renovate their house and, knowing of Sam’s background as a construction worker, she’d asked what he knew of faux finishes.

Sam’s pregnancy was going well, but he still sometimes found himself becoming very tired for no good reason. A sense of exhaustion started to creep over Sam and he decided that sitting down was a good idea. Abby had begun the conversation right after Sam’d stood, so Sam just started to bend down without looking, confident that his chair was right behind him.

A growl alerted him and Sam stopped the motion, stumbling as he tried to maintain his balance. Suddenly Dean was right at his side, a strong arm under his elbow keeping Sam on his feet and steadying him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dean barked. 

At first Sam thought the comment had been directed to him and he fumbled for answer. When he heard someone stammer behind him, though, Sam realized that his brother had been demanding an answer from someone else.

Dean’s face was flushed with anger. “Answer me, damn it.”

Sam turned carefully in Dean’s grasp. At first he didn’t understand what had Dean so upset. Richard was standing next to Sam’s chair, pulling his hand away from it, a guilty expression on his face. He looked as though he had been about to move the chair, which didn’t make sense, not with Sam starting to sit down in it. The other grad student looked like he would rather be anywhere else, but with Xena behind him, fur bristling, he didn’t dare move.

“Sammy, you okay?” The tone that Dean asked that question in was much gentler than what he’d used on Richard.

“Yeah,” Sam assured him. “I’m fine.”

Dean patted Sam’s chest, as though reassuring him that his brother was all right. Then he turned towards Richard. “That’s really funny there, Dick. Pulling a chair out from under an unsuspecting man. Real funny.”

As Richard flushed, Sam realized what Dean was talking about. Sam had started to sit without checking his chair first; it would have been easy for someone to move the chair out from under him, causing him to fall. It was a poor excuse for a joke under any circumstances, but Sam was in the first trimester of his pregnancy. The result could have been tragic.

“Hey, it was just a joke,” Richard’s laugh was high and nervous-sounding. “Can’t you take a little joke?”

The other grad students had known Dean for over a year. True, they didn’t know him as well as they did Sam, but they’d seen him at a number of school events. The faces that Dean had shown them were of the supportive spouse, caring father, and the charmer. As Dean left Sam’s side and stalked his brother’s would-be tormenter, they saw another side of Dean Winchester. The predator. Dean’s movements were smooth, but full of barely suppressed violence and the expression on his face was that of pure fury. As one, they stepped back.

“Real funny, tough guy,” Dean’s growl wasn’t as animalistic as Xena’s, but no less effective. “You didn’t notice how rocky this ground is? Sam could have hit his head or hurt his back.”

Or lost the baby.

Sam was every bit as furious as Dean, but managed to keep his head. He grabbed his brother’s arm before Dean could physically lash out at Richard. “It’s not worth it, Dean.” He waited until Dean looked at him. “He’s not worth it.”

“He could have hurt you, Sam,” Dean’s voice was calm, but his hands were clenching and unclenching.

“But he didn’t,” Sam pointed out. “And as good as it might feel to smash his face in, he’s enough of a prick to press charges instead of just taking his medicine like a man.”

Dean looked at Sam and then back at Richard’s pale face. The other grad student was openly sweating and looked like he was about to wet his pants. Whether Dean actually hit or not was a moot point; he was a wreck already and all of his colleagues were witness to it.

“All right,” Dean visibly stood down and Sam could hear the sighs of relief from those around them. “But only because you asked me to.”

“Thank you,” Sam was sincere in his gratitude and moved to kiss his brother. 

Sam’s relief at calming his brother was short-lived; he’d forgotten for a moment that Dean wasn’t the only other Winchester at the picnic. As he leaned down to press his lips to Dean’s, a small form shot passed them both.

“You big meanie!” Michael shouted as he kicked Richard in the shin. “You tried to hurt my DaSa!”

“Michael?” Sam couldn’t believe his eyes.

Even though he’d been ready to rip into Richard a few moments earlier, Dean was quick to grab his son and pull him away. “Whoa, there. What do you think you’re doing, Mikey?”

“He tried to hurt DaSa,” Michael glared at the man from the safety of his father’s arms.

Richard stooped to rub his wounded shin. “It was a joke, you little sh-. . . .” He broke off what he was going to say as Xena resumed growling. “It was a joke.”

“No it wasn’t!” Michael shouted. “You were being mean.”

Sam’s mouth tightened. With his gift of empathy, the little boy knew what he was talking about. Unfortunately, they could no more explain that to Sam’s colleagues than they could about the pregnancy and why Dean was so angry at a juvenile joke.

“Yeah, well, you can’t just go around and kicking mean people, even if they deserve it,” Dean stated firmly. Sam fervently hoped his brother was blocking his emotions, because he could clearly read both the amusement and pride in his brother’s eyes. 

“You were gonna,” Michael retorted mulishly.

“But he didn’t,” Sam joined in. “And you shouldn’t either. You apologize to Mr. Barkley.” Michael shook his head so hard that his hair flopped into his eyes.

Dean set the boy on the ground and squatted so he could look him into the eyes. “You do as your DaSa says and apologize, you understand me?” Sam tended to have more rules than Dean did, particularly where polite behavior was concerned, but when Dean put his foot down on something, it stayed firmly down.

Michael lost his bravo and gulped. Nodding, he sighed and turned towards Richard. “Sorry.”

Normally, Sam would have made the boy repeat it until he’d reached an approximation of sincerity, but under the circumstances, Michael’s apology would do.

“Good boy,” Dean ruffled Michael’s hair and picked him up again. “It’s a big boy who can admit when they’ve done something wrong and apologize for it.” He glared pointedly at Richard, who had yet to express regret for his ill-conceived attempt at a practical joke.

“Maybe we better go,” Sam suggested. The drama had gone on long enough.

Abby stepped forward. “No. I think Richard should go.”

“Yeah,” Greg added. “That sounds like a good idea to me too.”

Seeing the others nodding, Richard tossed his head back in disdain. “Fine. This picnic sucks anyway.”

Silently, the group watched him walk quickly towards the parking lot. The way Xena trotted after him, as if she was herding him away, probably had something to do with Richard’s haste. Sam knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help but smile a little as he realized that Richard was limping.

“Okay, people,” Sondra clapped her hands. “Who wants to help make ice cream? We’ve got an old crank kind of machine; we’re going to need lots of help keeping it going.”

Ice cream was always a crowd pleaser and her suggestion broke up the tense moment. By the time the ice cream was ready, Richard was all but forgotten. A game of Frisbee softball followed, until Xena ended the game by running off with the ‘ball.’ Exhausted but happy, people started calling it a day.

“Abby, I’m sorry,” Sam told the other student as they headed for their cars. Dean had already made one trip with the chairs and Sam was carrying a sleepy Michael. The little boy’s head was a welcome warmth on Sam’s shoulder and, from the way his eyes drooped, Sam doubted his son would be awake by the time they got home. “I hope we didn’t ruin the picnic; you did such a great job organizing it.”

“You’re apologizing because of Richard?” She asked. When Sam nodded, Abby laughed. “He’s always been a jerk, Sam, and since he didn’t get the job with Dr. Tropa, he’s been insufferable. I doubt I’m the only one who was glad to see him taken down a peg or two.”

Sam was grateful for her attitude. “Thanks.”

They’d reached their cars by that point. Greatly daring, since she was within Dean’s sight, Abby stretched up on her tiptoes to plant a chaste kiss on Sam’s cheek. “And that kick? Funniest damn thing I’ve seen all year.”

Dean was leaning up against the Impala as Sam reached the car. “Eventful day, huh?”

Sam laughed softly. “You could say that.”

With the ease of long practice, Sam got their sleepy son situated in his car seat. Dean whistled for Xena and, after she hopped in, closed the door behind her. In short order, the Winchesters were headed home. Dean kept an eye on the rearview mirror and after a couple of short minutes, grinned.

“And he’s out,” Dean told his brother. “That’s got to be some sort of record.”

“Yeah,” Sam replied and then he sighed. “What are we going to do about that kicking thing?”

Dean shrugged. “We already dealt with it, Sam. Mikey’s three years old; still a toddler. Toddlers sometimes do that kind of thing.”

“I know,” Sam admitted. 

“Besides, Mikey knew how that prick was feeling,” Dean pointed out, not having to keep his language clean since Michael was a sound sleeper. “He knew that Dick the dickless was out to hurt you and he took action. He’s a Winchester.”

“I know,” Sam repeated. “It’s just that he’s still a little boy.”

Dean shook his head. “He’s a big brother, he was protecting little Egon here.” Dean reached over and put a proprietary hand on Sam’s stomach.

Sam groaned. “We are not naming the baby Egon.” 

“That’s what you say now,” Dean chuckled as he patted Sam’s belly. “But Michael’s got over six months to work those puppy dog eyes on you.”

Sam ignored the taunting; they were not naming the baby after a character in Ghostbusters, even if it was Dean and Michael’s favorite movie. “Maybe we should get Michael into soccer next year.”

“Hell, yeah,” Dean crowed. “Did you see that kick? Man, Dick should be thankful that Mikey’s not taller, he would have busted his balls.” Sam cleared his throat and Dean instantly became contrite. “And that would have been a bad thing. Very bad.”

The memory of Richard limping to his car made Sam smile, in spite of himself. “It was a pretty sweet kick.”

“Damn straight it was,” Dean declared, enthusiastic again. “Mikey’s going to be an awesome big brother.”

Dean hadn’t removed his hand from Sam’s stomach and Sam covered it with his own. “Yeah, he will be. After all, he’s got a good roll model for that.”

His compliment made Dean snort with laughter and mutter something about Sam being a girl, but his ears turned red. “When I think what could have happened if that creep had managed to make you fall. . . .”

Sam gulped. “Yeah, me too. But he didn’t. You and Xena saw to that.”

Dean took his eyes off the road long enough to give Sam a brief look. “I shouldn’t have let you get pregnant; it’s going to be hell worrying until the baby’s born.”

“Join the club,” Sam knew he sounded smug, but he couldn’t help it. Those months while Dean carried Michael had been full of wonder, but terror too. At least this time they knew what to expect. “We’ll get through it.”

“I know that, Sammy,” Dean assured him. “And it’ll be worth it too.”

Dean’s eyes went to the rearview mirror and Sam knew that Dean was thinking of Michael and how he had been worth every moment of worry. Sam didn’t know what they’d name the new baby, just that it wouldn’t be Egon, but he did know that their second child would be every bit as wonderful.

“You’re right,” Sam agreed. “Absolutely right.”

“Of course I am,” Dean huffed. “I’m the big brother.”

And Sam wouldn’t want it any other way.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted May 18, 2008


	88. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is 17; Danny is 13. 
> 
> (Fair warning - not sure I'll go this far forward again the series.)

Sam smiled ruefully as he logged the last grade. The mid-semester exam hadn’t gone so well for his students; maybe Dean would finally get his long-hoped for wish and Sam would actually make one of the kids in his class cry.

It was hard to realize that this batch of freshman in his introductory anthropology class were only a year or so older than Michael. Their eldest son just seemed so much more mature than Sam’s students. Part of that was no doubt due to Michael’s gift of empathy, but Sam liked to think that at least a little of it had to do with how his fathers had raised him.

“Das, you got a minute?”

As though Sam thinking of him had conjured the 17 year-old, when Sam looked up, Michael was hovering by the doorway to Sam’s home office. The teenager was a pleasant blend of both fathers. He was taller than Dean, but not as tall as Sam. Michael had yet to bulk out, so was lanky and tended to slouch to hide his height. Sam remembered doing much the same until he’d grown more confident with towering over other people. No doubt his son would eventually do the same. Michael had Sam’s dark hair, but Dean’s vivid green eyes. Not that they got to see much of those eyes; Michael kept his bangs long. Sam finally knew his father’s frustration with his own long hair and his fingers often twitched to tweak it out of his son’s face. He always resisted, because it was Michael’s hair and not his. It was hard, though.

“Come on in,” Sam leaned back in his chair, then thought better of it and got up to stretch. “Or, better yet, follow me into the kitchen. Grading always makes me work up an appetite.”

As the two walked towards the other room, Sam couldn’t help but notice that his son was unusually fidgety. He took surreptitious glances at the teen as the pair ambled through the hallway. Michael was dressed in his nicest jeans and had an unwrinkled shirt on. More telling, for once his hair was carefully combed and out of his face.

Sam got himself a glass of milk and dug out a cookie from the jar on the counter. He tilted it towards Michael and his son took one too. Michael just nibbled at it, however, instead of inhaling it as teen-aged boys typically did with food.

“Worried about your date tonight?” Sam asked, since his son was obviously having a hard time breaching the subject. “Wouldn’t be surprising if you were; your first date is a big deal.”

Michael was a popular kid, so he’d had lots of opportunities to date, but hadn’t acted on any of them. With his gift of empathy, Michael was at the mercy of not only his own hormone-intensified emotions, but also those of his companions. He’d been slow to want to date, which was something of a relief to both Sam and Dean. They were worried that Michael would get caught in some sort of lust-driven feedback loop and find himself in sexual situations that he just wasn’t ready for. It might still be a problem, but as Sam had already observed, Michael was mature for his age and the couple of years he’d waited to enter the dating scene had allowed him time to strengthen his control of his gift. On the other hand, waiting that long made having your first date at the ripe old age of 17, years after Michael’s classmates had started, a bit nerve-wracking.

“No, I’m not worried, I’ve known Allie for a long time,” Michael responded. Sam just raised one eyebrow and Michael smiled as he shrugged sheepishly. “Okay, maybe I’m a little nervous, but Allie and I have been friends since junior high.”

Sam could clearly see that the auspiciousness of his first date wasn’t Michael’s problem. “What’s bothering you, then?”

Michael looked down for a long minute before lifting his face. “You and D aren’t disappointed, are you? That I’m dating a girl and not a boy?”

Only years of practice kept Sam’s own emotion block in place. “What? Why would you think that?”

His son shrugged. “It’s just that the two of you are both guys and I thought maybe you’d want me to date a guy.”

Sam put down his milk glass so that he could grip his son’s shoulder. Before he replied, he deliberately dropped his emotion shield as best he could so that his love and pride came through crystal clear. “Michael, the choice your father and I made on who to love doesn’t have to be your choice. I think I can speak for Dean too when I say that we don’t care if you’re attracted to a man or a woman. As long as it’s someone who respects you and treats you well.”

Michael let out a huge sigh of relief. “Good. That’s what I thought, but I wanted to make sure.”

His son was a good kid, but Sam gave him a firm look. “You weren’t peeking, were you?” Ever since they’d realized the nature of Michael’s gift, they’d instructed him that people’s privacy was important.

“Just a little,” Michael blushed, but didn’t look away. 

Sam knew he should be angry, but he couldn’t help but respect how Michael didn’t try to deny or wiggle out of it. “All right, I’ll let it slide this time, but only because you came and asked me instead of assuming you understood what you were picking up from us. What you felt wasn’t disappointment over you dating a girl; in fact, I know that your father wants grandkids. . . .”

“Just not right now,” Michael interrupted with a cheeky grin. Dean had been most firm on that subject when Michael had reached dating age and gotten the lecture. “He’s too young and sexy to be called Gramps.”

“I think what you were probably picking up on is our worry about you getting overwhelmed,” Sam admitted. “I know you’re careful and you’ve got a good grip on the whether or not you’re exposed to someone’s emotions, but sex is powerful stuff.”

“Das!” Michael protested. He was blushing all the way to his ears.

Sam shrugged. “Hey, don’t kid yourself, Michael. Dating leads to sex, hopefully not for a long, long time, but that’s the end result. At your age, despite your best intentions, things can get out of hand. Every parent worries about their kid becoming sexually active before they’re read;, you just have an ability that gives a little more cause for concern is all.”

“I’ll be careful,” Michael promised. “Really careful.”

“I know,” Sam assured him. “Or, believe me, you wouldn’t be dating before you were old enough to be a grandpa, trust me.”

Outside, they both heard the characteristic rumble that announced that the Impala had pulled up close to the house. Michael swallowed nervously. “You’re not going to tell D, are you?”

Sam shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way, Michael, you know that. I have to tell him about the unauthorized peeking.” He grinned and slung an arm over Michael’s shoulders. “But I’ll break it to him after you leave. Don’t worry, you’re not going to get grounded right before your big date.”

Dean came in with Danny trailing right behind him. Both of them looked both excited and like they’d been up to something. It always struck Sam anew how much their younger son looked like Dean. Danny had the same dark blond hair and green eyes, not to mention stockier build that was more similar to Dean than Michael or Sam. He also had his older father’s cocky attitude in spades. Seeing the twin expressions on the two’s faces only strengthened the resemblance.

“What?” Dean asked with a growl. 

Entering into his 40s hadn’t bothered Dean a bit. Of course, he looked at least ten years younger than that, which helped. It also helped that not only was his annual trip to the university to stake his claim on Sam with a very public display of affection widely known, but was also greatly anticipated. Sam could count on every school year beginning with eager students watching his every move. The Impala was such a distinctive car that Dean couldn’t sneak up on him anymore either. Usually, by the time Dean planted a juicy one on Sam in public, not only was the department secretary, Rose, watching, but a group of students as well.

And the round of applause that Dean got for the kiss did absolutely nothing to discourage his older brother, either. Not that Sam really wanted it to, but he would never admit it.

“You look like that cat that ate the canary,” Sam accused, giving Dean a quick kiss. “You’re late, did Danny’s practice go long?”

At 13, Danny was just a little cool to giggle, but it was a close call. “Nope, we got done early.”

Dean still wasn’t forthcoming, so Sam poked a little. “What have you two been up to?”

When Dean cleared his throat before answering, Sam realized that Dean was maybe more apprehensive about Michael’s first date than Michael was.

“We got the Impala detailed,” Dean finally revealed. He dug in his pocket for his keys, which he handed to Michael with a genuine smile. “Figured you deserved a sweet ride for your date.”

“Wow,” Michael’s eyes were perfectly round in surprise. 

“Just don’t get used to it,” Dean warned him. “It’s just for tonight, because it’s your first date.”

“Hey,” Danny piped up. “Does that mean that I get to use the Impala on my first date?”

“Sure,” Dean asked readily. “But you’re not dating until you’re at least 45.”

“Man,” Danny grumbled, but not seriously. He was young enough that he was still more interested in playing soccer than dating.

“Don’t worry, Squirt,” Michael reassured him. “Grandpa says that D babies that car so much that it’ll be around a lot longer than the rest of us.”

“Yeah, Gigantor,” Danny retorted. “Better not get a scratch on it or D will have your ass in a sling.”

“Danny,” Sam admonished their youngest. “Language. Now go upstairs, take a shower and get changed.”

“But, Das, I wanna see Mikey leave on his date,” Danny protested. “Can’t I do that stuff later?”

“Nope,” Sam denied the teen, despite the puppy dog eyes the boy turned on him. “We’re going out to eat and it’s getting close to restaurant’s rush hour. You know how cranky your dad gets when he has to wait in line.”

Food was far more important to a kid Danny’s age than the vague world of dating. With a whoop, Danny headed for the stairs. 

“Well, I better get going,” Michael said. “I promise, D, that I’ll take good care of the car.”

“I’m more worried about you,” Dean cautioned him. “Just remember, no skin on skin contact. Hands belong outside the clothing at all times.”

“D,” Michael protested. “I wouldn’t try anything like that with Allie, especially not on the first date.”

“Wasn’t talking about you,” Dean replied. “Was talking about Allie. She tries to get her hands in your pants, son, you forget anything your dad told you about not hitting girls and deck her.”

“Dean. . . .” Sam warned him.

Dean gave Sam a hangdog look, but Sam was implacable. Dean sighed. “All right, all right, don’t hit her. Just. . . .” His words trailed off.

Michael was an empath, but he didn’t need to read his fathers’ emotions to know what was going on. “I’ll be careful, promise.” With a smile for both of them, he headed towards the door.

“And Michael?” Sam called out to him. He waited until Michael turned around before saying anything more. “Remember to have a good time, okay?”

“Yeah, knock yourself out,” Dean added. “Allie’s a nice girl, I’m sure you’ll have fun.”

“Okay, see you in a couple of hours.” Michael waved and then he was out the door.

Sam wrapped his arms around Dean from behind. “Our little boy is all grown up.”

“Little?” Dean snorted. “I have to tilt my head to look him in the eye.”

“Still our little boy,” Sam pointed out. As much as he enjoyed comforting Dean, he couldn’t help but needle him a little too. “Doesn’t help that you’re a shrimp.”

Dean huffed. “That’s it, I’m getting some sort of anti-growing drug for Danny. I am not going to be the shortest Winchester.”

“He’ll be fine, you know,” Sam stated about Michael, maybe a little more firmly than he believed. He needed to tell Dean about what Michael had thought they'd been worried about and how he'd sensed it, but there would be time enough for that later.

“I know,” Dean’s voice was a little too cheery, so Sam wasn’t surprised at what his brother suggested. “Hey, after we eat, maybe we could take in a movie? Danny’d like that.”

Sam laughed, the soft puffs of air causing Dean to shiver. “We are not going to go spy on our son on his date, Dean. That’s just creepy.”

“But I forgot to warn him that you can’t kick a female in the crotch the way you can guys,” Dean complained. “It doesn’t work as well. With a chick, you have to aim for the boobs. If it’s the right time of the month, it works even better.”

Sam let go of his brother and stood back, appalled. “I can’t believe you ever got a woman to sleep with you.” 

Dean looked smug. “The problem was convincing them to stop.”

That was something that Sam did not want to hear. Thankfully, before Dean could explain, whether Sam wanted him to or not, Danny bounded down the stairs.

“I’m ready, let’s go eat.”

“You cannot possibly be done with a shower that quickly,” Sam stated in disbelief. His son was in a different outfit and his hair looked damp, but it had to have been the fastest shower in history.

Dean lifted one of Danny’s arms up and sniffed him. “He’s good, let’s go.”

“Yeah!” Danny whooped again, causing the dogs to start barking. He patted them each roughly before running for the door.

His fathers followed more slowly. As Sam watched his younger son ahead of him and thought about what the older one was doing, he got nostalgic. It wasn’t that long ago, it seemed, since he could cradle each one of them in his arms.

“Hey,” Sam whispered as he bumped his hip against Dean’s.

Dean shot him a wary look. “What?”

“Forget that 45 crap,” Sam told him. “Danny’s not dating until he’s old enough to draw Social Security.”

Slowly, Dean grinned. “I’m down with that.”

Sam wasn’t done yet. “And I suppose it won’t hurt if we just drove by the movie theater.”

Dean’s grin grew. “I knew there was a reason I fell in love with you.”

And Heaven help sweet little Allie if she so much as touched a hair on Michael’s head. Dean might be the blustery parent, but everyone knew it was the quiet ones you had to watch out for.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted June 25, 2008


	89. Misbehaving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is five; Danny is one

Dean lifted his head when he heard Sam’s voice. Sam rarely yelled and there’d been some fear in his tone. Dean extricated himself from under the Impala’s hood and, after dropping the wrench he’d been using, trotted in the direction he thought the shout had come from.

“Michael David Winchester, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

When Dean rounded the corner of the house, he saw his brother confronting their five year-old son. Michael was sitting on his bike and had an apprehensive look on his face. Dean didn’t blame him. Sam had inherited their dad’s temper, but usually didn’t unleash it anywhere near the kids.

“Sammy, what’s going on?” Dean asked as he approached the other two Winchesters.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Sam replied, mouth tight with anger. “I saw Michael here riding his bike towards the street.”

Michael ducked his head and Dean felt for the kid. The bike was relatively new and their son was always eager for a chance to ride. Dean could also see why Sam was upset, however. Not only was Michael not allowed to ride in the street, but he also didn’t have his helmet on.

“I’m sorry, DaSa,” Michael’s voice trembled. “I just wanted to ride.”

“You know better,” Sam chastised the little boy soundly. “What have we told you?”

Michael’s eyes filled up with tears. “I don’t know!”

Given the look on Sam’s face, that was the wrong answer for Michael to make. Dean didn’t want to undermine his brother’s authority, but he knew that once Sam got over the scare that Michael had given him, he’d be upset over how he was handling it. Michael was a good kid and didn’t disobey often. Sam was more frightened than angry, but that would be hard for a small child to understand.

“Sammy, I got this one,” Dean interjected before Sam could say anything. Sam gave him a frustrated look and Dean used a particular phrase he knew would snap his brother out of it. “Semper Fi and all that.”

His tactic worked. Sam’s face fell at the reference to their father’s military career — and Sam’s own frequent childhood complaint about their dad being a drill sergeant rather than a father. 

“Okay,” Sam took a deep breath. “I’m going to see if Danny’s awake from his nap yet.”

As Sam walked back into the house, Michael sniffled. Dean put a hand on top of the boy’s head and ruffled his hair, hoping that the familiar gesture would calm him a little. “Come on; let’s put your bike in the garage. What did I tell you about taking care of your preferred mode of transportation?”

“Always take care of your ride and it’ll take care of you.”” Michael answered immediately. He wouldn’t look at Dean, though, as he got off the bike and started wheeling it towards the back of the house where the garage was. 

“That’s right,” Dean nodded. 

He watched as the little boy did what Dean told him to and then led Michael over to the back steps. He sat down and waited until his son sat next to him. Dean wasn’t in a hurry to start the conversation, so he simply put his arm around Michael’s shoulders. To his relief, the little boy snuggled into the embrace.

Michael spoke first. “DaSa was really mad.”

“It certainly seemed that way.” Dean squeezed his son a little. “But I bet that wasn’t what he was really feeling, was it?”

“Huh?” Michael finally looked up at Dean, a confused expression on his face. The expression was just a little too angelic and, unfortunately for Michael, Dean had years of experience dealing with Michael’s other father, who was a master at pulling an innocent face. He wasn’t fooled for a minute.

“I know you ‘peeked,’” Dean told his son, referring to Michael’s ability to read emotions. “Don’t even try to tell me that you didn’t. You almost had to, your dad was upset enough that I bet it was hard to block out.”

Michael sighed. He wasn’t supposed to use his emotion-reading abilities unless told to do so by one of a very select group of adults. Still, sometimes he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed. No doubt Michael was reluctant to admit it because he didn’t want to get into more trouble than he was already in. “Yeah.”

Dean nudged him. “It’s okay. Like I said, it probably was pretty hard not to, right?”

Michael nodded, his little face glum. “He was pretty loud.”

“I bet if you think about it and remembered what he was feeling,” Dean suggested, “that you’ll find that your DaSa wasn’t mad. What was he really feeling?”

The little boy’s face screwed up as he thought about it. Dean could tell the minute that Michael figured it out, because his expression smoothed out. “DaSa was scared?”

“Yup, he scared,” Dean confirmed. “And why do you think that was?”

Michael was a bright kid and it didn’t take him long to figure it out. “Because I was on my bike and I didn’t have my helmet on.”

“Wasn’t there something about heading for the street too?” Dean prodded the little boy. He hated to, since Michael had copped to the no helmet offense pretty easily, but they’d given him some simple rules to follow about the bike when they gave it to him and it was important that Michael obeyed all of them.

“But DeeDee, I wasn’t gonna go in the street,” Michael protested. “I was just gonna go up to the street and turn around.”

“But your DaSa didn’t know that,” Dean pointed out reasonably. Inside, he was shuddering, although he tried to keep that from Michael. The idea of their small son heading into possible traffic, even as minimal as it was on their street, scared the crap out of him. No wonder Sam had reacted the way he had. “And you were already disobeying the helmet rule, so he didn’t know you were going to obey the street rule.”

Michael sighed theatrically. “I suppose.” He looked down and sniffled. “But he didn’t have to yell.”

Dean suppressed a smile. Yeah, Michael didn’t just look like Sam, he acted like him too. “Do you like being scared?”

The answer he got was reluctant. “Noooo. . . .”

“Well, neither does DaSa,” Dean stated. “And sometimes when people get scared, really scared, they’re so upset that it comes out like they’re mad.”

“Oh,” Michael thought about it and nodded. “Okay.”

Dean tried to look stern. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not going to get punished, because you knew the rules, you just didn’t follow them.”

Somewhere, Dean was sure, some of his old teachers just felt a shudder pass down their spines. Dean Winchester chastising someone for not following the rules was downright unnatural.

“So,” Dean nudged his son when the little boy looked down again. “What do you think we ought to do about that?”

Michael’s sigh sounded like it came right down from the tips of his toes. He looked up at his father through lowered lashes. “No bike for the rest of the day?”

Dean snorted. “Nice try. No bike for the rest of the week.” When Michael opened his mouth to protest, Dean found it easier to look stern. “And I’m thinking about no dessert, either.” Michael’s mouth snapped shut and Dean nodded, satisfied. “Maybe we’ll just stay with the no bike for now. If there’s a next time, and there better not be, there’ll be no bike for a month and your sweet tooth will dry up and blow away, because you won’t get dessert for a long time either.”

“Okay,” Michael sighed again. There was companionable silence for a few minutes and then, in a very meek voice, Michael added, “DaSa said a bad word.”

Dean thought about it, trying to remember exactly what Sam had said to their son. Darned if Michael wasn’t right, Sam had sworn. A little. Just as Dean realized it, though, he heard a sound coming from the house. The kitchen was right behind the porch and the window was open; no doubt they had a Samzilla-sized eavesdropper.

“You really want to mention that to him right now?” Dean asked his son skeptically.

“No,” Michael shook his head. “But he did say it.”

Dean couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, he did. I’ll talk to him about it later, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

A whine sounded behind them and Dean turned to see that Xena was pressed against the screen door. She obviously wanted to go out and, satisfied with the way his conversation with Michael had gone, Dean was glad to have a distraction. He had his big boy to deal with yet.

“Looks like Xena’s looking for her buddy,” Dean said to Michael. He gave the little boy one last squeeze and stood up. “Why don’t you let her out and play?”

Michael looked dubious about the idea. “But I’m in trouble.”

“Yeah,” Dean replied. “But not getting to ride your bike is your punishment; you aren’t banned from having any sort of fun at all.”

“Thanks, DeeDee,” Michael hugged Dean around the knees and then moved to let his dog out. “C’mon, Xena.”

“Just stay in the back yard,” Dean reminded him. “And if she poops anywhere, come find your DaSa or me and we’ll take care of it.”

“Okay,” Michael answered, already rummaging through a bin they kept on the porch, looking for a dog toy.

Dean leaned down, mindful of the eavesdropper. “And when it comes to the Poop Patrol, who are you supposed to look for first?”

Michael grinned at him. “DaSa!”

“Good boy,” Dean ruffled Michael’s hair, pretending that he couldn’t hear the muffled noise coming from through the kitchen window.

By the time Dean went inside, Sam was at the sink, arduously scrubbing a pot. Dean smirked; Sam was a terrible liar, even without talking. Not only was the pot bright, shiny clean, but they had a dishwasher and didn’t really do them by hand anymore.

“Everything okay?” Sam asked, turning around as though just realizing that Dean had entered.

Dean snorted. “You tell me; you heard every word.”

“I - . . . “ Sam started to protest, then after getting a good look at Dean’s face, gave up the pretense. “I didn’t mean to yell at him, but I was just so scared. Michael seems like such a big boy, especially compared to Danny, but seeing him pedaling towards the street, all I could think of was how young he looked. . . and how fragile.”

Dean crossed the room and grabbed Sam for a hard hug. “Sam, you had to yell to get his attention. You didn’t say anything cruel, you were just loud. And if I would’ve been the one to see him headed that way, I would have pissed my pants and Mikey probably wouldn’t have sat easy for a weak.”

Sam snorted even as he leaned into the embrace. “Like you’d ever lift a hand to either of the kids.” 

“Okay, probably not,” Dean admitted. “But the pissing my pants thing? Totally true.”

Sighing, Sam stepped back from his brother’s arms. “When did you get all Father Knows Best? The way you handled both me and Michael; I’m impressed.”

It was Dean’s turn to snort. “Give me a break, Sammy. Sometimes I think I’ve spent my whole life playing referee between you and Dad; I just have a little more experience than you in handling battling Winchesters.”

“That’s an exaggeration, Dean,” Sam scoffed. “Things didn’t start getting bad with Dad until I was a teenager.”

“Guess again, Sammy,” Dean took a quick look outside. Michael was playing, safely, in the back yard with Xena and was well out of earshot. “Things went downhill when you learned to say ‘no’ and you were a toddler when that started.”

Sam rubbed his face. “Yeah, well, Dad. . . how did he do it, Dean? He started training us when we were kids; I freaked out watching our son ride a bike too close to the street. I mean, putting aside the moral implications, how could Dad raise us to be warriors like that? How could he stand to do it?”

Dean heard the anger start to build in Sam’s voice, but also detected the honest confusion underlying his brother’s tone. “We have a luxury that Dad didn’t have, Sammy. Knowledge.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked. He at least appeared to be willing to listen to Dean’s defense of their father, instead of automatically dismissing it. Sam’s relationship with their father had improved dramatically since Michael was born, but it still hit the occasional rough patch.

“Back when we were Mikey’s age, Dad didn’t know yet what killed Mom,” Dean explained. “And he sure as hell didn’t know if it was coming back for the rest of us. Training us was the best way he knew how to keep us safe.”

“I yelled at Michael because I was scared,” Sam looked as if something pained him. “Do you think, all those times Dad yelled and seemed mad at us, he was really scared?”

“Yeah,” Dean said softly. “I think he was scared the whole time, until the demon was dead.”

“Maybe,” Sam admitted after considering it. “It still sucked, but if he hadn’t raised us the way he did, we wouldn’t have been able to protect Michael when the demon came for him.”

“Hell, Michael and Danny probably wouldn’t even exist,” Dean pointed out. He grinned as he thought of something. “You owe the Swear Jar a dollar, by the way. I’d suggest you make your deposit while Mikey’s watching.”

“That’s a good idea,” Sam looked sheepish. “I can’t believe that I went all drill sergeant like that.”

“You wish,” Dean retorted. “If one of us had pulled something like that on Dad, he would have had us running laps around the yard the rest of the night.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Speaking of yards, what’s this about the Poop Patrol and Michael coming to me first for clean-up?”

Uh-oh. 

Apparently Dean hadn’t been as circumspect about that part of his conversation with Michael as he’d hoped he’d been. Sammy had heard it and Sammy clearly wasn’t happy about it. No doubt his brainiac little brother was adding up all the times he’d been the one that cleaned up the dog mess in the yard and realizing that Dean hadn’t exactly put in his fair share.

Dean put on his best angelic expression as he got ready to respond. Michael, after all, wasn’t the only Winchester boy to ever misbehave.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted July 9, 2008


	90. Birthday Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is five; Danny is nine months

“Why does DeeDee like pie for his birthday?”

Sam didn’t look up from his task of pinching pie dough crust. He wasn’t much of a baker and, most times, pie from a local restaurant or bakery was just fine. Buying a pie wouldn’t do for Dean’s birthday, though; Sam insisted on homemade. Liddy had helped Sam when he’d started baking for Dean, but this was Sam’s first solo pie making attempt and he was a little nervous about it.

“I don’t know,” Sam answered, distracted. “I guess because he likes it better.”

”Why?

The plaintive question took Sam’s attention away from his pie crust. He looked at Michael in mild concern. His son picked up a cinnamon coated apple slice out of the left over from the pie filling and was munching on it. Michael had been ‘helping’ with the pie preparation while Danny observed from his position in a highchair. To protect Michael’s clothes, the boy had on one of Dean’s old shirts and it hung on him almost like a dress. The three of them had been having a grand time fixing pies while Dean ran some errands. 

Sam hoped that Michael’s question wasn’t a harbinger of trouble and he took a closer look at his son. The five year-old’s expression was one of mild curiosity rather than dismay, but Sam was careful to keep his emotions under control anyway. What Michael had asked wasn’t as simple-seeming as it first appeared. Given that Michael was being so persistent with his line of questioning, he might be picking up on that fact.

Sam shrugged, being careful to be casual about it. “Why does anyone like one thing better than another thing? You like chocolate more than vanilla, right?” 

Michael nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. Chocolate is way better.”

“Well, DeeDee feels that way about pie,” Sam explained. “And he should have what he wants for his birthday, right?”

“Right,” Michael nodded, causing his bangs to flop into his eyes. Like a dog with a bone, though, he didn’t let it drop. “You had cake on your birthday.”

”That’s because I like cake better,” Sam stated. 

Birthdays were big with Sam; not so much for Dean. At least, his own birthday hadn’t ever been something Dean had been eager to celebrate. Growing up, Sam hadn’t understood that; he’d craved the normalness of a traditional birthday celebration. It was only after Stanford that Sam had figured it out. Dean’d had normal, back when he was younger than Michael. Dean probably remembered Mary Winchester making him a cake and having all of the birthday trimmings. Her death had likely made birthdays and cakes painful reminders and so Dean had avoided them as much as possible, even as he strove to make things nice for Sam. That selflessness was just one of many things that Sam loved about his older brother.

“Grandpa likes ice cream for his birthday,” Michael went on with a giggle. “But it got all melty.”

Like Dean, John Winchester wasn’t fond of birthdays and cakes, probably for the same reason. That had been difficult to explain to his grandson, however, so John had learned to grit his teeth and endure being fussed over for one day of the year. He’d claimed to like ice cream better than cake, Sam having refused to take beer as an acceptable answer. Getting all of those candles on the ice cream had been interesting. Between the time it had taken to place them and the number of candles that had to be lit, the ice cream had indeed become a little soft, much to John’s chagrin and Dean’s open amusement.

“So, you see?” Sam pointed out. “Grandpa doesn’t have cake on his birthday either. You get to have whatever you like best.”

“Like you an’ DeeDee,” Michael added. “That’s why me and Danny have two daddies instead of a daddy and a mommy.”

Sam blinked, not quite sure how the conversation had gone from a discussion about birthdays preferences to one about sexual choices. They’d already had a couple of talks with Michael about the two daddy make-up of their family and the little boy had seemed to take it in stride, which had been a huge relief. It was a little unsettling, however, to have that choice equated with a dessert preference.

“Yeah,” Sam responded slowly, “I guess so.”

Michael must have sensed something off about his father’s tone, because he left off poking at the apple pie filling and moved to hug Sam’s legs. “I’m glad you’re not a girl, DaSa, even if DeeDee says you’re one.” He stared up solemnly into Sam’s face. “He teases a lot.”

Sam felt his heart swell up with pride at Michael’s reassurance. “I know.” He ruffled Michael’s hair. “I’m glad I’m not a girl either.”

“You know what?” Michael stepped back as Sam reached for the pie. “Girls have to pee sitting down.”

Sam slid the pie in the oven and gave Danny a quick kiss before pulling the other pie out of the fridge. “They do, huh?”

“Yep,” Michael watched avidly as Sam also grabbed a can of whipped cream. “Boys are way better.”

The second pie was a chocolate one and the filling had needed to set so that Sam could put the whip cream on top. He’d learned early on that he couldn’t make just an apple pie for Dean’s birthday. Dean liked variety and, with the exception of mincemeat or sour cream raisin, Dean had yet to meet a pie he didn’t like.

It was nearly time for Dean to be home, so Sam made quick work of topping the pie. When he was done, there was a little bit of whip cream left in the can, so he squirted a dollop onto Michael’s tongue. Danny squealed for his fair share and Sam gave him a shot before emptying the can into his own mouth. 

“Can I lick the bowl?” Michael asked, looking eagerly at the double boiler that they had melted the chocolate in for the filling. There was just a little left, so Sam let him have it. Dinner was hours away, so he wasn’t too worried about ruining the little boy’s appetite.

“Girls are nice too.” Sam stated as Michael happily dug in. He was aware that he was a gay man raising sons; he didn’t want Michael unfairly biased against the opposite sex.

“I know,” Michael replied. “Boys are cooler, though.”

“Miss Liddy’s a girl,” Sam pointed out, mostly just to see what the little boy would say.

“She is not!” Michael denied, indignant. “She’s a woman.”

“And that’s an important distinction to make,” Dean said from behind Sam. “Don’t let anybody ever tell you any different.”

“D-D-D-D-D-D-D!” Danny cried out from his high chair, waving his chubby baby arms at Dean. 

Dean chuckled and walked over to Danny, leaning down for a kiss. At nine months, Danny didn’t really pucker up, he just mouthed his father.

“Mmmm. . . .” Dean murmured in appreciation. “Whip cream flavored kisses, tasty.”

“Me too!” Michael jumped up and down, excited even though Dean had only been gone a couple of hours. “Me too!”

Dean grabbed Michael by the elbows and lifted the boy to face level. Michael gave him a kiss before Dean set him down.

“Chocolate flavored kisses,” Dean said. “Them’s good eating.”

Michael giggled and Sam grinned. “Despite the evidence to the contrary,” he told his older brother, “some of the filling actually did make it into the pies.”

“I never doubted it for a minute,” Dean declared. He came closer and kissed Sam too, much longer than he had either of the boys. “Mmmmm. . . . Sammy flavored kisses, my favorite.”

“Man,” Michael sighed. “You daddies kiss more than any mommy and daddy could.”

Dean grinned. “They only wish.” He looked decidedly smug and, after that kiss, Sam decided that he had every reason to be.

“Hey, go wash your face,” Sam told the little boy. “You’ve got chocolate everywhere.”

“Do I have to?” Michael complained. “Danny’s face is dirty too.”

“We’ll take care of Danny,” Dean told him. “You go do what your DaSa told you to do.” As Michael sighed and headed towards the bathroom, he called after him. “And don’t just let Xena lick it off; chocolate’s bad for dogs.”

When Dean turned back to Sam, his eyes were twinkling merrily. “Little knucklehead.”

Sam grinned at the fondness in Dean’s voice. “I’ve been told that males are superior to females because we can urinate from a standing position.”

“That’s true,” Dean drawled. “It’s quicker that way and gives us more time for manly pursuits like cutting down trees, sharpening our knives and. . . making pies.”

“That’s alright, Dean,” Sam replied loftily. “You don’t have to eat the pie.”

Dean put himself between Sam and the pie. “Now, don’t be hasty, Sammy.”

Sam stole a kiss. “Happy birthday, Dean.”

Relaxing as he realized that the pie wasn’t going to be taken from him, Dean leaned into the kiss. “Yeah, it is a happy birthday.” He reached over for the whip cream can, a comic look of dismay coming over his face as he discovered that it was empty. “Well, it was a happy birthday. You couldn’t have left any for me?”

Instead of answering right away, Sam simply went over to the refrigerator and took out another can of whip cream. He brandished it at Dean with a grin. “I’ll say it again — happy birthday, Dean.”

“Ooooh, I’ve been a good boy this year,” Dean claimed. “I’ll have to save this for tonight, after the boys are in bed.”

“That’s what I was hoping you’d do,” Sam purred.

Because, after all, the best birthday presents were those that could be shared.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted October 4, 2008


	91. Simple Pleasures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is four days old.

The washing machine had seen better days. Its white surface was marred by rust and splattered detergent had dried in puddles of gunk around the top where it loaded. To Sam, though, it was a beautiful thing. Not so much for itself, but what it stood for.

Sam carefully placed the laundry basket on the floor next to the machine. He ran his fingers over its metal sides with something akin to reverence. There was no coin slot. The only experiences that Sam’d had with washing machines that didn’t require quarters were when they’d stayed with Bobby or Pastor Jim. Even at Stanford, Sam had either been in a dorm or rented an apartment. Coin-operated machines shoved into the back corners of dumpy motels or stifling un-air conditioned laundromats located in strip malls had been the norm for him.

Things had changed, big time.

The biggest change, and the one that led to all the others, was Michael. Their son was already four days old and it still felt surreal to Sam. The reality of the situation hadn’t sunk in, even after being by Dean’s side during the pregnancy, not to mention the bloody birth. They had a child now and hunting had been put on hold. Their house might be rented, but it was still a house and not a motel. Unlikely as it seemed, Sam and Dean were now fathers. 

The washing machine, more than anything else, was visible proof to Sam that the Winchesters now had roots. They were going to stay put and do all the things with their son that Sam had longed for growing up. With any luck, Michael wouldn’t have to use a coin-operated washing machine until he left for college.

With a decided air of satisfaction, Sam loaded the clothes into the washer and started it running. A thrum filled the air and Sam leaned on the machine; the hum of it sounding like it was purring ‘home.’

“Never figured I’d have to worry about catching you making out with the Maytag man, Sammy, let alone just the Maytag.”

The voice startled Sam and he turned around. Dean was standing near the top of the stairs; he must have started down into the basement without Sam hearing. At the moment, Dean was leaning against the railing with studied nonchalance, but Sam saw through his brother’s act in an instant. Dean was pale and breathing hard.

“What are you doing?” Sam demanded. “You know you’re not supposed to be up and around much.” 

The birth had been hard on Dean and Sam would have preferred that his brother stay under Dana’s care, but that hadn’t been an option. They hadn’t been home that long and so far, having Michael around had been enough to keep Dean following orders. Apparently that grace period of obedience was over.

Dean shrugged. “Thought maybe you fell in.” One eyebrow lifted. “Maybe I should give you some alone time with your new friend? Kinky, Sammy.”

Sam didn’t let the jibe distract him. He jogged up the stairs until he was on the step below the one Dean stood on. It allowed the brothers to be eye to eye, something that didn’t happen often when they were vertical.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Sam pointed out. “You promised you would.”

“I went down three steps,” Dean said in exasperation. “It’s not exactly the Olympics, Sam.”

“You almost bled to death,” Sam lectured his brother in a tense voice. “And you just gave birth, you’re entitled to take it easy. All I’m doing is a measly little laundry; I can handle it on my own.”

Dean tilted his head to the side. “What’s going on, Sammy? You okay?”

The question shouldn’t have surprised Sam, but it did. Dean always put his little brother’s needs ahead of his own. Sam supposed that Michael’s would now come first, but the thought didn’t cause any jealousy. If anything, it made him sad, to think that Dean would push consideration for his own needs even further down the list.

“Let’s see, I’m a new father and am settling into a new house,” Sam listed his issues. “We have our father living with us and he’s still a little bit freaked out about our relationship and, oh yeah, my life partner almost died and yet won’t take care of himself.”

“That’s not it,” Dean shook his head, not the slightest bit phased by Sam’s list. “There’s something else going on in that egg-shaped head of yours.”

Busted.

Sam shrugged. “It’s just Michael and house and you. . . .”

Dean lifted his hand and squeezed Sam’s shoulder. “But I thought you wanted those things?”

Sam was frustrated at his inability to explain. “I do. God, I do.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Dean was understandably confused.

“It’s not a problem, I’m just worried it’ll all go away,” Sam confessed. “It’s too good to be true, you know? Like it’s not real.”

“The way that kid felt coming out?” Dean huffed. “He damn well better be real.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean.”

Dean’s expression softened. “I know what you mean, Sammy. Having Mikey with you is everything I wanted without even knowing I wanted it.” He kissed Sam gently. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

“Me neither,” Sam promised.

Upstairs, they could hear the thin wail of a tiny baby crying. A smile tugged at Dean’s lips. “Dad went on a grocery store run, so it’s just us. Why don’t you get this diaper? I think a little fresh baby poop ought to convince you that Mikey’s real.”

“I don’t mind.” Sam kissed him quickly, but instead of going directly to Michael, insisted on putting an arm under Dean’s to help him up the stairs. 

“We’re gonna have to get you a sexy little French maid’s costume if you keep this up,” Dean complained. Despite his words, however, Dean leaned into Sam’s support.

Behind them, the washing machine entered into its spin cycle and Sam grinned. A baby crying, Dean complaining and a washing machine all their own. No, he wasn’t going anywhere at all.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted October 31, 2008


	92. Feed a Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is four

Sam had a headache and it wasn’t because of a vision. He’d been fighting off a cold for days by drinking a lot of orange juice, but if the pounding in his head and the tickle in the back of his throat were any indications, it was a lost cause. At least he’d gotten the last of the exams graded. With a sense of relief, he closed the folder, hiding them from view. It was Saturday afternoon, so at least only half his weekend was lost to the task.

“You’re done.”

Turning in his office chair, Sam found Dean standing in the doorway. He grinned at his brother. “Yeah, I just finished.”

Dean shook his head as he walked into the room. “Wasn’t a question, Sammy. It doesn’t matter if you’re finished or not. Either way, you’re done.”

It was in Sam’s nature to rebel against such an ultimatum, even from someone he loved as much as he loved Dean. He opened his mouth to protest, but stopped when he saw the look on his brother’s face.

“What’s that, Sammy?” Dean cupped his hand around his ear in an exaggerated listening pose. “Were you going to bitch about it and say no? After promising to let me take care of you while you’re pregnant, even if I hovered?”

Sam’s hand dropped to his barely rounded baby bump. At five months, he wasn’t showing much, but Sam knew his unborn son was there. Dean did too.

“Sammy?” Dean prompted.

“No,” Sam wasn’t even tempted to pout. After finishing his grading, he could finally admit that he wasn’t feeling well. Besides, he had promised. With a grand gesture, he spread his arms open wide. “Fuss away.”

Dean smiled in victory. “Why, thank you, Mr. Winchester, I think I will.”

After taking Sam by the arm, Dean escorted him from the room. The house they rented had three bedrooms and the third room doubled as John’s when he was visiting and an office for Sam’s grad school work. Dean led Sam to their bedroom and Sam snorted at what he saw there.

“Been busy, Dean?” He asked, dryly.

The bed was already turned down and there was a glass of orange juice on the nightstand. The blinds were shut, which was a relief, since light seemed to be making Sam’s headache worse. Sam halfway expected a pair of jammies to be laid out on the end of the bed, waiting for him, but at least Dean had spared him that indignity. Maybe only because Sam was already in sweats, but at least Sam wouldn’t be dressed by his brother.

“Having a cold while you’re pregnant’s a bitch,” Dean spoke with the wisdom of experience. “You can’t take anything for it, you can only suffer.

Sam winced, remember a particularly spectacular cold that Dean had gotten while being pregnant with Michael. Thankfully, it was after he knew about the baby, so he didn’t take any medicine. Normally a simple cold was something that Dean would have toughed his way through, but he’d actually taken care of himself for a change. That had scared the hell out of Sam at first, thinking Dean was sicker than he was letting on, until Sam realized that Dean would do things for the baby’s welfare that he wouldn’t do for his own. 

Sam could do no less and sat meekly on the edge of the bed as Dean took his shoes off for him. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight and the memories it invoked.

“Reminds me of when I was little,” Sam said. Dean’s head was conveniently at the right height, so Sam also ran his fingers through Dean’s hair while his brother worked.

“That’s because you took forever to learn to tie your shoes,” Dean huffed in amusement. “And Dad refused to spend the money for the Velcro kind.” He looked up and caught Sam staring at him. “What?”

“You’re just so cute when you’re fussing,” Sam teased.

“Cute, just what every guy wants to hear when he’s on his knees in front of his man,” Dean complained as the second shoe came loose and dropped to the floor. “Cute.”

“Did I say ‘cute’?” Sam fluttered his eyelashes at Dean. “I meant drop-dead sexy.”

“And well hung, don’t forget that.” Dean got up and patted the bed. “Now quit trying to distract me and get your ass into bed. You need a nap.”

Sam sighed as he moved to obey. “And I remember a time when ‘get into bed’ had a whole other connotation.”

“Yeah, well, you wish,” Dean pulled the covers up and kissed Sam’s forehead. “Take a nap, Sammy.”

He turned to leave, but Sam drew him back with a question. “Is Dad back with Michael yet?”

Their father was in for a visit and had taken Michael to movie. His reasoning was that Sam would need a quiet house in order to grade the exam papers correctly, but Sam didn’t buy that. This was the same John Winchester who had expected his sons to do their homework in the back of the Impala, often by flashlight. Sam suspected that their dad just wanted quality time with his grandson, but Sam wasn’t going to deny him that.

“Not yet,” Dean answered. “He called, though. They were going to stop for ice cream on the way back from the movie.”

Sam tried to sit up, but sank back down when Dean growled and pointed at him. “Did you ask them to bring some home?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yes, but no ice cream for you if you don’t take a nap.”

“It’s not for me, it’s for your unborn son,” Sam retorted piously. He did close his eyes, though and, after a few moments, heard Dean softly close the door.

Between the pregnancy, the onslaught of getting a cold and grading papers, Sam fell asleep almost immediately. He woke up a couple of times as the afternoon wore on, but not all the way. In the distance, he heard what sounded like cartoons, but the volume was kept low and Sam quickly fell back asleep, safe in the knowledge that his son was back in the house.

An indeterminate time later, Sam was in that cozy spot between sleep and awake. He was so comfortable that he was reluctant to wake all the way up, but when he heard the door open, he did have enough energy to open his eyes. Michael and Dean were in the doorway, Dean clearly holding their son back.

“See, DeeDee, he’s awake.” Michael bounced.

Sam grinned and sat up. “I sure am. Hey there, buddy, did you like the movie?”

Dean let Michael go. “You go see your DaSa, but be careful because of Brother.” Dean motioned at the door with his thumb. “I’m going to help Dad with dinner.” 

The little boy came into the room as Dean left and carefully clambered onto the bed to sit next to Sam. “It was good. It had a talking unicorn and her name was Daffodil.”

Imaging his father sitting through any kid’s movie, much less one featuring a talking mythical creature named after a flower, made Sam’s grin get bigger. “I’m glad you liked it. Did Grandpa like the movie too?”

Michael frowned. “I dunno. He was feeling nothing pretty hard.”

Which meant that John hated it and was doing his level best to block his grandson’s empathy. Sam’s relationship with his dad had healed a lot since Michael had been born, but Sam wasn’t above a little revenge.

“We’ll buy him a copy when it comes out on DVD,” Sam promised. It wouldn’t be wasted money, since even if John didn’t like the movie, Michael did and John would enjoy sharing it with him.

“And maybe a stuffed unicorn?” Michael suggested helpfully. The little scamp probably knew exactly who would end up getting to play with the unicorn. “Some of the parts are real scary and Grandpa’ll need something to snuggle with.”

“He’ll have you to snuggle and keep him safe,” Sam teased, tickling the four year-old. Michael giggled, but didn’t get too rough. Even at a young age, he was mindful of the baby growing inside of his father.

The playing stopped when Sam sneezed and he leaned over to grab a tissue from the box on the nightstand. When he turned back to his son, Michael had a woebegone look on his face. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

Michael buried his face into Sam’s stomach. “I sorry I gave you the sniffles.”

Sam’s heart melted as he patted his son on the back. Michael had come home from the daycare with a cold a couple of days earlier. “Not your fault, buddy. Colds happen all the time. I’m with a bunch of people at school, so I probably got it from them.”

Lifting his head, Michael asked, “Can Brother get a cold too?”

“What?” Sam laughed. “No, he’s safe inside. He can’t catch a cold until after he’s born.” Long after he was born, if Sam had his wish.

Michael frowned in confusion. “But I thought Brother got everything you got, through your placemat thingie?”

“It’s called a placenta,” Sam said after a moment, a little awed that a four year-old knew the concept. “And only stuff that you put in your mouth goes through. Germs are too little.”

“Oh,” Michael brightened a little. “So Brother won’t get sick?”

“Nope,” Sam was happy to reassure his son. “Not at all.”

“Good,” Michael threw himself down on the bed by Sam’s stomach. “I wanna tell him all about the movie.”

Sam happily stroked Michael’s hair as the little boy recited the plot from the film. Sam didn’t quite follow the narrative, but that was okay. It wasn’t important anyway. He just got a huge kick out of seeing his oldest being so excited about the arrival of a sibling. He liked to think that maybe Dean had been that way when their mom was pregnant with him, but didn’t have the courage to ask either Dean or their dad.

“Yo, Mikey,” Dean said as he came back into the room. “Chow’s on. Grandpa’s got your hotdogs ready in the kitchen.”

“Oh boy,” Michael kissed Sam quickly and hopped down, running out of the room.

“Like Dad didn’t stuff him full of popcorn and ice cream already,” Dean rolled his eyes as he came closer.

Sam hadn’t bothered getting up. Dean was carrying a tray and Sam had the feeling it was for him. He felt much better since taking a nap, but mindful of his promise, figured he could stand eating in bed.

“If Mikey upchucks anything back up, Dad’s cleaning it up, not me,” Dean stated. He put the tray on Sam’s lap and settled on the edge of the bed.

”Nice dinner conversation,” Sam complained. There was a bowl of soup on the tray, with some crackers and yet another glass of orange juice. Sam’s nose was stuffed up enough that he couldn’t smell it, but the steam rising from the bowl was pleasant enough.

Dean snorted. “You’re a Winchester, a little puke’s nothing. Man up, Sammy. You’re pregnant, not a wimp.”

Sam chuckled. “Man up? There is something totally screwed up saying that right now, you know?”

“Tell me about it,” Dean lifted one eyebrow. Before Sam could answer, Dean tapped on the tray. “Time to eat your yummy soup.”

“It looks good, I just wish I could smell it,” Sam reached for the spoon, only to have his hand lightly batted away.

“Ah, ah, ah, none of that, Sammy,” Dean chided him. “I’m allowed to take care of you while you’re pregnant and you can’t complain about it. At all.”

Sam belatedly noticed that Dean had a towel draped over his arm. While he watched, perplexed, Dean unfolded the towel with a snap and placed it over Sam’s chest. It was bulky, but Dean managed to tie the corners behind Sam’s neck. 

Dean next picked up the spoon and dipped it in the soup. Sam’s eyes got wide as Dean lifted it to his own mouth and blew on it gently. Only after Dean deemed the soup cool enough did he bring the spoon to Sam’s mouth.

It was sorely tempting to protest. Sam had vowed that he would let Dean take care of him if Sam were allowed to carry their second child, but feeding him? Sam had even opened his mouth to protest when it occurred to him that he would resent it if Dean tried to wiggle out of a promise. Instead of objecting, Sam instead obediently let Dean spoon the soup into his mouth.

As Sam dutifully swallowed, Dean carefully put the spoon down. He grinned first, but then he started laughing. By the time Sam figured out that Dean had been playing him, Dean was crying from laughing so hard. 

Sam used his longer arms to reach over and thump his brother on the shoulder, all without disturbing the tray on his lap. “You ass.”

Dean wiped the tears from his cheeks. “Yeah, well, you’re a dork. Come on, Sammy, it was too good to pass up.” His expression turned a little smug. “Besides, it was the easiest 20 bucks I ever made.”

“You bet on whether I would let you feed me?” Sam sputtered. “With whom?”

“The milkman,” Dean retorted sarcastically. “Who do you think?”

If Sam had thought about it for a minute longer, he would have known without asking. “Dad.”

“Look at this way, Sammy,” Dean said, eyes crinkling up as he grinned broadly. “I had faith in the strength of your word. You promised I could fuss without limits and by God, that’s what you were prepared to let me do.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. Trust Dean to try and finesse his way out of being in trouble by twisting it into some sort of left-handed compliment. 

Again using his long arms, Sam grabbed Dean by the collar and pulled him in for a deep, wet kiss. When he let go, Dean rocked back into place, rubbing a lip that was already plumping out nicely.

“If that was punishment, Sammy,” Dean told him. “I think you need to try again. Kissing you’s not exactly a deterrent.”

It was Sam’s turn to smile. “I have a cold, Dean. I just shared my germs with you.”

Dean’s cocky grin slipped, but then softened into a smile. “It was worth it, trust me.”

“We’ll see if you’re still saying that when your nose is red and your glands are swollen,” Sam retorted.

“Nope, still worth it,” Dean handed the spoon to Sam. “Now, eat Papa, eat. Nobody likes a skinny Santa.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but obediently ate his soup. He wasn’t feeling particularly cooperative after the trick Dean had pulled, but he wouldn’t put it passed his brother to actually try to feed him. He was sure the soup was good, but as stuffed up as he was, Sam couldn’t really taste it. Dean launched into a description of what had happened while Sam slept and, sooner than Sam would have thought, the soup was gone.

Dean took the lap tray away, stealing a kiss while he was at it. He groaned when their lips parted. “Man, my glands are not the only thing I’m worried about being swollen.”

The patter of little feet distracted them from serious flirtation.

“DeeDee, DaSa, I ate my hotdog.” Michael told them. He spied both his parents on the bed. “Ooooh, are you havin’ a sleepover?”

Michael had been begging to have a sleepover with his best friend from daycare, Silas. So far the Winchesters had held off, thinking that Michael was too young, even without the complication of his empathy gift. Luckily, Silas’ parents felt the same way about their son’s readiness, so at least there was no pressure on that point. Just one very determined four year-old.

“Yeah, we’re having a sleep over,” Sam pulled back the covers. “Climb in.”

Michael happily complied and snuggled close to Sam. After making sure the child was comfortable, Sam reached for Dean. “Come on, you too.”

Dean didn’t need to be told twice. He laid down on Sam’s other side, choosing to stay above the covers. “My boys,” Dean said softly as he stroked Sam’s belly. He looked up at Sam, showing that Sam was one of the boys he was claiming.

This time, when Sam kissed Dean, he wasn’t thinking about passing along cold germs at all.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted November 12, 2008


	93. Never Too Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is a baby.

The Winchesters didn’t exactly subscribe to the ‘shop ‘til you drop’ philosophy. Growing up, the major purchases their family had made had been for weapons and ammunition. Christmas gifts had mostly been regulated to small, practical items that could be picked up at convenience stores. Now that the brothers had a child of their own, however, the way the Winchesters did Christmas had changed, big time. 

As had everything else in their lives.

With Christmas coming, shopping was inevitable. Even Dean had seen the necessity, although he grumbled about it. Sam heard the pride about their new life beneath the complaints, though, and had mostly ignored it. With a secret plan in mind, he’d even managed to dress Michael in one of his nicer outfits without Dean noticing.

“You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy,” Dean intoned as he pulled the Impala into a parking spot.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean, it’s a shopping mall.”

Dean raised one eyebrow. “Your point, Sammy?”

Replying to that statement would just set Dean off, so Sam didn’t bother. He got out of the car and went around to the back, getting Michael out of his car seat. The baby grinned at him.

“I see somebody’s in the Christmas spirit,” Sam cooed at the baby as he picked him up.

“He grins when he dirties his diaper too,” Dean pointed out. He went to the trunk and got out the stroller. “I wouldn’t read too much into it, if I were you.”

“Daddy Dean’s a Grinch,” Sam told the baby, kissing his cheek before settling him in the stroller. “But that’s okay, we love him anyway.”

Maybe Dean was more into the Christmas spirit than Sam thought, because he didn’t make fun of the comment or accuse Sam of being a girl. With the complaints at a minimum, the brothers headed into the mall.

Being a Christmas virgin of sorts, Sam had not anticipated such a crowd. “Wow. It’s packed in here.”

“No kidding,” Dean agreed. He pulled the stroller out of the traffic flow and picked Michael up. “No way is he riding in that thing in here. Some parents are using them like battering rams.”

“Good idea,” Sam nodded his head. “Besides, we can use the stroller to hold the bags.”

In truth, the Winchesters didn’t have that many gifts to buy. The people closest to them weren’t exactly the types that you could shop for in a mall, since gun shops and occult stores tended to be located elsewhere. They did have a few people, like Michael and his daycare provider, that they could shop for. They also needed Christmas supplies, since Sam was determined that Michael have a ‘traditional’ Christmas, despite the non-traditional make-up of their family.

By lunchtime, the stroller was full of purchases and the small family hit the food court for lunch. Michael was mesmerized by all the people and activity and was having a grand old time. Dean was less thrilled, but after a calorie-laden fast food lunch, was more sanguine about the experience. 

Sam waited until Dean had a full stomach before heading in the direction he really wanted to go. The mall’s Santa was set up on the far end and Sam was a study in nonchalance as they happened by the little station.

“Hey, look, there’s Santa,” Sam commented, oh-so-casually. “You suppose we should have Michael’s picture taken?”

To Sam’s surprise, Dean chuckled. “I was wondering how long it would take you to get to that.”

“You knew?” Sam asked, chagrinned. 

“Ya think?” Dean grinned. “You usually don’t make sure Michael’s wearing his best threads for an errand run, Sammy.”

Sam knew he shouldn’t have tried to fool Dean. “You don’t mind?”

Dean shrugged. “Of course not. Santa’s a big deal.”

With a light heart, at least on Sam’s part, Sam and Dean got into line. Since it was just after Santa’s lunch break, there weren’t too many people ahead of them. Dean bounced Michael to keep him content, being careful not to upset the baby’s full tummy.

“Hey, did we ever get our picture taken with Santa?” Sam asked. 

“You did, because I took you,” Dean told him. 

Sam nodded, vaguely remembering the experience. “Yeah, you got in trouble for that, right?”

Dean looked away. “Dad didn’t want you thinking that all strangers were nice.”

“You did it anyway,” Sam felt a flush of pride at Dean’s determination and a twinge of guilt for having been the cause of Dean getting on their father’s bad side.

“Well, yeah,” Dean seemed confused at Sam’s reaction. “Kids gotta have Santa. We couldn’t afford to buy the picture, though.”

“What about you?” Sam asked. “Did you ever visit Santa?”

Dean shrugged again. “I must have, but I don’t remember. I was pretty little that last Christmas with Mom and then after she died, Dad just wasn’t up to it.”

Sam squeezed Dean’s arm briefly and kissed the baby, happy that they were giving Michael a different life. Knowing that it was a painful subject for Dean, he didn’t ask any more questions. Pensive, Sam watched the goings-on and, as they got to the front of the line, he noticed a group of giggling teenagers getting their picture done with Santa.

Sam got an idea. Sam got a evil, perfectly Christmas-y idea.

When it was their turn, Sam stepped back and let Dean put the baby on Santa’s lap. While his brother was busy getting Michael settled, Sam whispered his plan in the ear of Santa’s helper. She was about his age and giggled, but nodded as she took his money.

“That’s my boy,” Dean crowed as Michael didn’t cry. They’d seen most babies ahead of them be less than enthusiastic about being placed on the lap of a stranger. Michael grinned at his fathers and only blinked at the flash.

“Okay, now it’s our turn,” Sam grabbed Dean by the elbow and manhandled him towards Santa and the baby. Dean was confused for a moment and then realized what his brother had in mind.

“Oh, hell no, Sammy.”

“Oh, hell yes, Dean, and watch your language, there’s kids around,” Sam replied. “Besides, we’ve already paid for it, so shut up and smile for the camera.”

“You are so dead,” Dean said through his smile. “We’re adults for cryin’ out loud.”

Sam’s smile was serene. “It’s never too late for a happy childhood, Dean.”

A couple of pictures were taken and when Sam got a look at them, he was surprised to see that Dean’s smile actually looked natural. He gladly accepted the prints and took them to the stroller. Dean handed him the baby and went back to Santa’s helper. Frowning, Sam watched while Dean leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Rather than giggling, she turned a shade paler and vehemently shook her head. With a bounce in his step and a smug smile on his face, Dean returned to Sam and Michael.

“What did you say to her?” Sam demanded.

“Nothing,” Dean protested. “I just told her what would happen if those pictures turned up anywhere on the internet.”

Sam sighed. “Dean, she was just doing her job.”

“I know, I’m just saying,” Dean defended himself. “You never can trust an elf.”

But Dean didn’t protest later, when Sam used the picture for their Christmas cards.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted December 1, 2008


	94. Déjà vu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is four, Danny is almost six months old

John Winchester showed up first, but neither brother thought much of it. Ever since Michael had been born, their father had been a regular visitor and even had his own room in their house. With the addition of Danny to the family over five months earlier, their dad had begun stopping by even more frequently. The only thing about his current visit that raised any concern was that the hunter looked a little ragged around the edges.

“Everything okay, Dad?” Dean asked when he managed to corner their father. 

John looked up from where he’d been dangling the baby on his knee. “Eveything’s fine. Why do you ask?”

Dean shrugged. “You’re looking a little rough.”

His father didn’t answer until he’d tickled Danny under the chin, causing the infant to giggle. “I’m not as young as I used to be. Hunting these days takes more out of me than it used to.” He winked at his son. “That’s why I stop by here so often. These little guys keep me young.”

He didn’t quite buy it, but Dean let the matter slide and, because Dean did, Sam did too. Normally, John’s visits lasted a couple of days, but after a week, he showed no signs of leaving. The birth of their children had eased Sam’s relationship with their dad considerably, so it was no problem. A little odd, maybe, but not exactly unwelcome. 

Even when Bobby arrived, the brothers weren’t too concerned. While Walter and Dana had been Michael’s godparents, Bobby and Ellen were Danny’s. The gruff hunter would never admit it, but he enjoyed being ‘Uncle Bobby’ every bit as much as John enjoyed being a grandfather. South Dakota was a long way from Virginia, but he found reasons to visit, even if sometimes those reasons were a bit thin.

“Got a pup to pick up in Ashville,” Bobby claimed when he showed up at their door. “Thought I’d stop in a see how the ankle biters are doing, especially since I’ll be training this pup up for Danny.”

They were seated in the living room and all of them turned to watch Danny, who was on a blanket on the floor. The infant was on his stomach, but couldn’t quite crawl yet. He did manage to reach for Xena, though, and promptly stuck her tail in his mouth. For her part, Xena took the baby’s actions well, even licking him after pulling her tail away.

“It’s not that we don’t appreciate it,” Sam commented. “But are you sure we need another dog? Xena does a great job.”

Bobby snorted. “You say that now, but when both boys are up and running, one dog won’t be able to protect two of them. No, you need one guard animal for each boy.”

Dean shrugged. “Well, you’re the expert. I can’t believe you came all this way for a dog, though.”

“I wanted a boxer and this breeder’s a good one,” Bobby explained.

“A boxer?” Sam frowned. “Aren’t they kind of drooly?”

“What’s a little drool among friends?” Bobby scoffed. “Besides, they’re good family dogs; very protective of children.”

The Winchester brothers couldn’t really say anything against that. One more dog wouldn’t be that big of a hassle. Luckily, their landlady loved them and would be okay with the addition of another pet. Bobby’s visit continued without any undue suspicion.

When Ellen Harvelle showed up the next morning, though, Dean knew something was up. Not only was it unheard of for three hunters to drop in unexpectedly, but Ellen’s game face wasn’t as good as John or Bobby’s. The woman looked worried and, as soon as he saw her expression, Dean felt his stomach drop.

“Hello, Dean,” Ellen tried to be nonchalant as she greeted him. Considering that she was almost as persona non grata as her daughter was, following Jo’s harassment of Dean, that was an effort destined to fail.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean demanded. He blocked the doorway so that Ellen couldn’t come in. “And you damn well better be alone.”

Ellen frowned. “You didn’t know I was coming?”

“Oh, yeah, the table’s all set up out back for tea and crumpets,” Dean growled sarcastically. “Do I look like I was expecting you?”

“I was,” John’s voice came from behind him. “Now let her in.”

Sam had been drawn by the raised voices and immediately took issue with their father’s attitude. “You’re awfully free with who you invite into our house.”

“Ellen put her life on the line for Michael,” John reminded him. “I think you owe her a little bit of slack.”

Dean stepped between them before Sam could go ballistic. “For once, you’re both right. Dad, you know how we feel about Jo. Next time, you damn well better clear it with us before you invite anyone connected to her into our home.” He turned to Sam. “But Dad’s right too, Sam. I got no problem with Ellen and, without her help, the demon might’ve gotten Mikey. Besides, she’s Danny’s godmother.”

John Winchester didn’t apologize often or easily, but he did nod in acknowledgement of Dean’s words. Sam was a little more cooperative.

“Sorry, Ellen,” Sam was sincere in his apology. “I just, well, it hasn’t been too long since Jo - . . . .”

“My girl did you wrong, I get that,” Ellen admitted freely. “And I’m sorry for it. I gave her hell about it, I promise you. But you know how hard-headed she is.”

“Like her mother,” Dean said with a grin.

Ellen laughed. “Like her mother.” She looked at the brothers pointedly. “Can I come in now? It’s getting cold out here.”

Dean stepped back and gestured her inside. “Be our guest.” He shot a glare at his father. “Maybe we can find out what’s going on around here.”

Michael was at a play date and Danny was too young to understand if hunting talk came up, so they didn’t have to worry about little ears. Bobby came out of the bathroom, where Dean secretly thought he’d been hiding to avoid the confrontation, and the five adults sat in the living room.

“I take it that your dad hasn’t told you anything,” Ellen stated, shooting John an accusing look.

Bobby snorted. “Ya think?”

“Talk, Dad,” Sam demanded. 

For once, John didn’t take issue with Sam’s tone. “Danny turns 6 months old the day after tomorrow.”

Dean felt fear deep in his belly, cold and hard. He hadn’t looked at it that way, but immediately knew what his father was getting at. “The demon’s dead.”

“The demon is dead, I’m sure of it” John confirmed. “But, Danny’s my grandson. I’m just covering all of the bases here.”

“So he called in the cavalry,” Bobby explained. “Not as many as for Michael’s six month birthday, but then, we figure we won’t need ‘em.”

“I thought this was over,” Sam’s face had gone white, right down to his lips. “I didn’t think we had to worry about this ever again.”

John reached over and put a hand on his son’s knee. “I don’t think we do, Sam, but I want to be careful. Just in case. It’s just too damn important.”

Dean didn’t know about Sam, but he immediately forgave his dad for not saying anything earlier. Intellectually, he knew John was right. The demon that had tormented their family since Sam was a baby was dead and the likelihood of it coming back was slim to none. Still, it was Danny they were talking about. Danny and Sammy, since Sam had given birth to the baby and the demon went after the ‘mothers.’ Even though he knew that there wasn’t anything to be truly concerned about, though, Dean was already sick with worry. By springing it on them at the last minute, at least their father had spared them from having it hanging over them like a dark cloud.

“What’s the plan?” Dean asked quietly. He knew there had to be one.

“Pretty much like last time,” John explained. “I called in everyone who might be inclined to come, asked them to bring their best demon gear.” He smiled grimly. “At least we have a better idea now of what doesn’t work.”

“That’s comforting,” Sam commented sarcastically. 

“Who’s got the Colt?” Dean asked. 

Daniel Elkins had brought the weapon to the confrontation with the demon and it had been what had killed the yellow-eyed bastard. Elkins had since died, though, taken out by the vampires he’d spent most of his life hunting. Dean hadn’t thought about the fate of the Colt at the time, but if something was going to come after Danny, then the gun would be their best defense.

“I do,” John stated. “Bobby and I spent a month this summer tracking down the nest that took out Elkins. It’s locked in the gun safe in my room.”

Sam and Dean had been raised to respect guns and not touch them, but they didn’t take any chances with their own kids. There was a gun safe in the spare bedroom that was John’s and he was expected to use it.

“Hunters’ll start showing up tomorrow,” Bobby told them. “I got us another cabin rented. We’ll have to be careful with this one, but seeing as we’re not expecting any real trouble, shouldn’t be a problem.”

There wasn’t much else to say after that. Ellen and Bobby took off to ready the cabin, but John stuck close by. After an hour, Sam went to pick up Michael from his play date. Michael was enthused when he got home, especially upon seeing that his grandfather was still there, but soon became pensive. By the time dinner came around, he would only push the food around on his plate.

“Eat up,” John encouraged his grandson. “It’ll put hair on your chest.”

“My tummy hurts,” Michael complained.

Over Michael’s head, Dean exchanged worried glances with Sam. They hadn’t seen nearly as much evidence of the boy’s ability to read emotions since Danny was born and were hoping that Michael had grown out of it. Given the strain that John pointing out the significance of Danny’s upcoming six month birthday, though, they probably just weren’t shielding enough. 

Dean started an inner recitation of “Cat Scratch Fever,” in attempt to help contain his concern and worry. From the furrowing on Sam’s forehead, he was doing something similar. Their dad looked a little confused until Sam elbowed him. John’s lips puckered into an “O” and then he looked as though he were concentrating too.

“Well, there’s only one cure for a sore tummy,” Dean told the little boy as he picked him up directly from his chair. Michael immediately put his arms around Dean’s neck and laid his head on Dean’s shoulder. “Cartoons.”

He started towards the living room and Sam followed, after picking Danny up from his high chair. The family went into the living room and Dean turned the television on. He eschewed the easy chair to plop on the couch. Sam sat so close to him that their thighs were touching. Danny chewed on his fist as Sam grabbed the remote and soon the happy music of cartoons filled the living room.

Dean rubbed his son’s back, feeling Michael relax as dual effects of more tightly shielded minds and the distraction of the television kicked in. John watched them awkwardly from the door.

“What about the dishes?” Michael asked. One of his chores was helping clear the table.

“They can wait, just this one time,” Sam answered. He bent over and kissed Michael on the top of the head.

“I’ll do them,” John offered. He turned abruptly and left the room. 

Dean looked at Sam and shrugged. As a family, the Winchesters had come a long way when it came to dealing with emotional issues. John had come the furthest, but he also had the furthest to go. If Sam was looking for their dad to join a group hug, then he was setting himself up for disappointment.

Their evening went much the same, with Michael clinging and his fathers inclined to let him. They kept Danny equally close, with John lurking around the edges of their family unit. Finally they decided to go to bed early. Not only would it end the misery for the evening, at least for Michael, but they doubted they’d be getting any sleep the next night.

Having gone for too long with sharing motel rooms with their father, Dean and Sam had always been firm about not having their boys in their bed. They made an exception, though, and eventually Michael was nestled between them and was sound asleep. Danny was next to him, although he’d soon be moved to the portable crib next to the bed, being too little to risk one of his fathers rolling over on him. Both Winchesters lay propped up on one arm and stared down at their sleeping sons.

“It’s gonna be okay, Sammy,” Dean reassured his brother, but his words didn’t sound as confident as he would have liked. He kept remembering being up on the ceiling, powerless to stop the demon from menacing their son. He felt ill at the thought of it being Sam up there with his gut torn out, waiting to burn.

“This legacy I’ve given him,” Sam said, brushing Michael’s hair from his face. The boy didn’t wake. “Given them. If Michael has some sort of gift, then Danny probably does too, we just don’t know what it is yet.”

“You’ve given them way more important stuff than that,” Dean protested.

Sam snorted. “Like what? Becoming the target in a demon’s hunt is pretty damn important, Dean.”

“You’ve also taught Mikey to be compassionate, just like you,” Dean pointed out. “You’ve made sure he loves to learn and isn’t afraid to show people he cares. And if Mikey knows all that stuff, you can be sure that Danny will.” Dean grinned. “And you gave him your dimples too. He’s not gonna have any trouble scoring with the chicks. Although, to be honest, that part might come from me instead of you.”

The last comment caused Sam to smile, which had been Dean’s whole point. “I think we’ve got a few years before we have to worry about Michael becoming a chick magnet.”

“I don’t know,” Dean teased. “He is my kid.”

“I don’t want them growing up running from a demon or learning to hunt.” Sam grew solemn again. “I want them to be just kids,”

“They will, Sammy,” Dean promised. “Even Dad says he doesn’t expect any trouble on Danny’s birthday. He’s just being cautious.” 

“Yeah, I guess.”

Sam didn’t sound any more convinced than Dean did. Despite knowing they’d probably be up the next night too, neither brother slept much. The next morning found them both bleary-eyed but determined.

The family stayed at the house the next day while Bobby and Ellen continued to watch the cabin Bobby had rented and waited for the other hunters. Sam and Dean spent a lot of time playing with their boys; there was no way either of them was going to work or that they were sending their children to daycare. They called Liddy and notified her of the change, but didn’t explain why, not wanting to frighten her unnecessarily.

Eventually it was time to head to the cabin and, unlike when Michael was 6 months old, John drove separately. Dean took that as a good sign, that their dad was telling them the truth about there not being much risk, rather than it being because the Impala was too full in the back with an infant seat for Danny and a booster seat for Michael.

The cabin that Bobby had found was in better shape than that first one. It seemed more like a small summer home. Inside, the gathering of hunters was much smaller than the first time too. Tamara and Isaac Jones were there, as well as Steve Wondell and Dr. Leonard Goodman. To Dean’s surprise, his old friend, Richie, was also a part of the group.

“Hey, I thought you got out of this crazy business,” Dean slapped Richie on the shoulder as he greeted him.

“In today’s economy?” Richie retorted. “Chasing demons is safer than trying to sell a car nowadays”

“Where’s Missouri?” Sam asked. As soon as his brother said it, Dean realized that something had been missing.

John shrugged. “We didn’t contact her.”

“What he means is,” Bobby drawled. “We didn’t want her calling us a pack of fools.”

“I still say she wouldn’t have done that,” Ellen protested. “She cares about the boys too.”

“You don’t know her as well as we do,” Bobby pointed out. “That is one woman who wields a fierce spoon.”

Michael had been sticking close to Dean, but he’d been swiveling his head as he looked around at the furnishings and piped up as the atmosphere relaxed. “DeeDee, are we having a sleep over?”

A couple of the hunters chuckled, but Dean was solemn as he squatted down to address the little boy. “Yup. You think you can keep all these grown-ups in line?”

“That’s what Grandpa’s here for,” Michael stated. “An’ Aunt Ellen.”

“But not Uncle Bobby?” Sam asked, a smile twitching at his lips.

“Nooo,” Michael grinned. “He’s here to play with me.”

“Oh, I am?” Bobby sounded gruff, but anyone could see that he was flattered. “We’ll jest see about that.”

Whenever a group of hunters got together, it was inevitable that someone brought out a deck of cards. Because of Michael’s presence, however, the usual game of poker was nixed for an intense round of “Go Fish.” Dean thought that it was hilarious to watch the hardened group of hunters sputter over being told to fish for a card, but they kept it clean for Michael’s sake. By about 10 pm, though, the boy drifted off to sleep in Sam’s arms. Dean held onto Danny, who’d conked out hours earlier. His arms felt like lead from holding the baby that long, but there was no way he was putting his son down. From the stubborn look on Sam’s face, he felt the same about Michael.

To Dean’s surprise, the hunters didn’t switch to poker after the boys fell asleep. In fact, interest in cards died off as midnight approached. Talk did turn to shop matters, but Dean could tell from the utter limpness of Michael’s body that his little boy was well and truly asleep, clearly not aware of the discussion.

“I still say the best holy water is the stuff blessed by a priest,” Steve Wondell asserted.

Bobby shrugged. “A rosary and a little Latin does the trick.”

“But there’s no elegance,” Wondell asserted.

“And since when is hunting elegant?” John challenged him. “As long as we deal with the situation and eliminate the threat, that’s enough. Saving lives is what matters.”

“That’s the point,” Wondell claimed. “Why risk someone’s life on holy water that may not be holy enough.”

The friendly debate continued for some time, but as the clock ticked closer to midnight, discussion tapered off. At five minutes before the hour, the hunters spread out around the room, their favorite weapons ready to go. Dean and Sam, holding their sleeping children, remained at the table which was in the center of the cabin. Each had holy water at hand, but no other weapon; the idea of holding a gun or knife while cradling their sons just seemed wrong.

Dean exchanged a glance with his brother. He wanted to say something, but not with all the other hunters around. Sam seemed to understand, because the tension lines around his eyes softened and he nodded at Dean. Confident that his message of reassurance had been delivered, Dean went back to watching the clock.

Midnight came. And then it went, with nothing happening.

The hunters remained tense for several minutes after midnight, but as time went on and no demon showed up, they began to stand down. Finally, at thirty minutes past the hour, John voiced what they were all thinking.

“That’s it,” John declared. “We’re in the clear.”

Bobby grinned from ear to ear. “I knew it. We killed that bastard good and dead the first time.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Tamara Jones stated in a voice full of regret. “Especially when it comes to the children.”

The group turned to look at Sam and Dean, still holding their kids. The boys remained fast asleep. Dean had to clear his throat a couple of times before he could speak.

“Thanks everybody,” he managed to say. “For coming and making sure.”

“We appreciate it,” Sam added. The gratitude thrummed in his voice.

“This calls for a celebration!” Richie was immune to the emotion in the room. “I got a cooler in the car, I’ll get us something to toast with.”

He darted out of the cabin, with Steve Wondell coming along to help. John walked over to the table and gently kissed each grandson on the top of the head. He seemed to want to say something, but turned away, swallowing heavily. Dean wanted to find out what was wrong, but when Richie came back in, was pulled away by the other hunters’ enthusiasm.

“To the end of the demon,” Bobby declared as he held up his beer. “Hell’s too good for that yellow-eyed bastard.”

The hunters clinked their bottles together quietly, in deference to the sleeping children.

“To Pastor Jim and Caleb,” Dean added after he took a drink. The faces of the other hunters grew solemn as they remembered their comrades who’d died in the demon fight.

“To Pastor Jim and Caleb,” Lenny added. “I can’t tell you how thankful I am that you didn’t need my medical skills tonight.” He nodded towards Danny. “I saw the miracle of that little one coming into the world, I was prepared to defend him, but I’m just as happy I didn’t have to.”

“To Daniel Elkins,” Bobby held up his beer. “He was a real SOB, but he was a good hunter. If he hadn’t found the Colt, well, I don’t know what would have happened.”

Dean knew. He would have died, the demon would have gotten its hooks into Michael and Danny never would have been born. “To Daniel Elkins.”

The hunters did the one last toast and then drank the rest of their beer in silence.

“Well, we’re glad this turned out so well,” Isaac Jones stated after he’d emptied his bottle. “But Tamara and I have to hit the road. There’s a restless spirit that needs putting down about a hundred miles from here.”

“Me too,” Wondell said. “Glad to help out, but there’s another hunt awaiting.”

Ellen sighed. “There always is.” She looked sheepish. “But I probably need to head out of here too. I left Ash in charge of the Roadhouse and I try to make sure I’m not gone long when that happens.”

“Hey, Wondell,” Richie trotted behind the older hunter. “You need any help?”

Wondell looked at him long and hard. “I suppose I could.”

Moving carefully so as not to wake the baby he was still holding, Dean got up and saw the other hunters to the door. Sam did the same.

“Thanks again,” Sam called out softly as they left. “And Ellen? I’m sorry about before.”

Ellen smiled sadly. “Don’t worry about it, Jo created that problem. I don’t blame you for being a little punchy on the subject.” She reached up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. As she did, she brushed up against Michael, causing the little boy to stir. “Oops.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean reassured her. “He’ll go right back to sleep.”

“You take care of those boys, now,” Ellen instructed.

“Always,” Dean promised.

Ellen grinned. “I was talking to Sam and you were one of the boys I was telling him to take care of.”

“Like I need a reminder,” Sam teased. “Dean’s more work than the other two combined.”

“Yuck it up now,” Dean threatened. He felt lightheaded with relief. “But I’ll remember that little comment later.”

Ellen left, laughing softly. After her, Bobby was the only non-Winchester left, but it was clear he wasn't staying long either.

“You’re leaving too?” Sam sounded as surprised as Dean felt. Bobby was one of the family.

“I really do have a pup to pick up,” Bobby shrugged. “Besides, figured you might need some quality time or whatever they call it nowadays. Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon enough. You won’t be able to keep me away.”

“We won’t even try to, Bobby,” Dean assured him. “You’re welcome any time.”

Michael lifted up his head from Sam’s shoulder as Bobby left. Yawning, the little boy rubbed his eyes. “Is the sleepover over?” He asked, as he saw the cabin was empty except for their family.

“Fraid so, buddy,” Sam snuggled him close. 

“Did I miss anything?” Michael wanted to know.

Dean and Sam exchanged a relieved grin over their son’s head. 

“No, not a darn thing,” Dean assured him. And wasn’t that the best damn thing ever.

Michael swiveled in Sam’s arms, looking around the cabin. He wasn’t in any danger of falling; there was no way that Sam was going to drop him. “Where’s Grandpa? Did he leave too?”

Only when they heard Michael’s question did Dean and Sam realize that their dad was gone too. 

“I wonder if he took off?” Dean asked. He couldn’t help but feel a little bit hurt. Dean wasn’t big on emotional stuff either, but figured they should be able to expect more from John than yet another disappearing act.

“I think he’s outside,” Michael said, his little face scrunched up in concentration. “Back there.”

As one, the brothers moved to the back window on the far side of the cabin. There was no outdoor lighting, but the moon was out. They could see their father a couple of dozen feet from the cabin. He was on his knees and although his back was to the window, they could see his shoulders shaking.

“Why is Grandpa crying?” Michael asked in a small voice. “He feels happy, but he’s crying.”

Dean and Sam exchanged another look, this one full of dawning comprehension. John hadn’t been quite as certain that the threat was over as he’d been pretending to be. Either that or he was having a delayed reaction to the proof that the demon was irrevocably out of their lives.

“Sometimes when people are really, really happy, they cry,” Dean told his little boy. “When you were born, your DaSa cried buckets. In fact, your first bath was saltwater from his tears.”

Michael didn’t look convinced. “Grandpa’s not like DaSa, though.”

“No,” Sam gave Dean a quelling look. “He’s not. But you know what? I bet a hug would make your grandpa feel a lot better.”

“It would?” Michael looked pleased.

“He’s right, it would,” Dean supported Sam’s idea whole-heartedly. “I know one of your hugs always makes me feel a lot better.”

“Okay,” Michael wiggled until Sam put him down. He padded over to the door of the cabin, but before he could go out, Dean stopped him.

“Wait a minute, Mikey,” Dean walked over to his son. “Hold out your arms.”

Michael’s eyes got wide as Dean put his sleeping brother into his arms. Many parents would have hesitated over trusting a four year-old holding a baby, but Dean knew better than most people what a four year-old was capable of.

“I think Grandpa would probably appreciate a Danny hug too,” Dean explained.

Moving gingerly, Michael walked out of the cabin. From the shining in Sam’s eyes, Dean knew that his brother approved of his addition to Sam’s suggestion. They watched as Michael came around the back, Danny still safely nestled in his arms, and approached his grandfather. They couldn’t hear what Michael said to their dad, but they saw John turn around and engulf his grandchildren into his arms.

“It’s over,” Sam leaned against Dean and sighed in contentment. “It’s finally over.”

Dean thought about the years ahead of them, truly free of the demon that had persecuted their family for years. No doubt the paranormal would still be part of their lives, but not in the personal way it had been before. They had the luxury of picking and choosing their hunts; no longer were they the hunted.

“No, Sammy,” he said in satisfaction about the peaceful turn their lives had taken. “It’s just the beginning.”

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> January 25, 2009


	95. Bedtime Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is seven; Danny is two

Dean had always enjoyed bedtime. It started with vague but cherished memories of his mother tucking him in at night. In his teen years, he simply enjoyed the sleep itself, especially when he was burning the candle at both ends, with attending school, taking care of Sam and helping their dad hunt. As an adult, sex came into the picture, although the only sex partner that Dean had actually slept with was Sam.

Since becoming a father, bedtime had taken on a whole new meaning for Dean. Both of their boys were active, but Sam had insisted on nightly stories for Michael as soon as he was born. By the time Danny came along, it was a routine and one that Dean enjoyed as much as the kids did.

“Okay, you rug rats, time to hit the hay,” Dean instructed as toothbrushes were set down. “It’s getting late.”

“You promised a new story,” Michael reminded him as Dean shooed them towards their bedrooms.

“I did?” Dean pretended to act surprised. “Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh,” Danny asserted. “Promised.”

“And DeeDee always does as he promises, right?” Sam stated, eyes twinkling.

“Absolutely, I do,” Dean huffed. “Come on, we’ll use Michael’s bed.”

At seven, Michael was still small enough to carry if he fell asleep during the story, but not as easily as Danny, who was two and a half. Soon, Dean was perched on the edge of Michael’s bed, with Michael under the covers and Danny snuggled on Dean’s lap. Sam hovered at the doorway, overseeing the proceedings.

“Okay, once upon a time, there were two knights. Sir Dean and Sir Sam,” Dean began.

“Sir Sam was a dork,” Danny giggled.

“That’s right,” Dean answered solemnly. “He had this long hair that just didn’t fit under his helmet right. In fact, Sir Sam won one fight with a troll because it knocked Sir Sam’s helmet right off and — boing. Sir Sam’s hair just popped right out and hit the troll so hard that it fell down and started crying for its mommy.”

“But that’s Sir Sam,” Michael reassured his younger father. “Not you, DaSa. Your hair’s pretty.”

“Thank you, Michael,” Sam replied. “It’s good know that someone around here has taste.”

“Suck up,” Dean grinned at Michael. “Well, anyway, this story is about Sir Dean and Sir Sam and their friend, Impala the metal dragon.”

“Oooh,” both boys murmured. Impala was a favorite character.

“As you know, Impala was Sir Dean and Sir Sam’s trusty companion and helped them fight evil. She was black and sleek and when she swooped down from the sky, she rumbled so loudly that people thought it was thunder.”

“An’ cause she was metal, nobody could hurt her, right?” Michael asked.

“Right,” Dean nodded firmly. “Impala was a tough dragon, not like a flimsy Japanese dragon or a composite dragon.”

“Plastic dragons suck,” Danny stated.

Dean laughed. “Right, they do.” Sam cleared his throat and Dean flushed. “What I meant to say, Danny, is that plastic dragons aren’t as tough, but suck is a bad word unless you’re talking about your thumb.”

“Why?” Danny, predictably, asked.

“Because your DaSa says so, that’s why,” Dean replied. He knew better than to get into a ‘why’ competition with a toddler, especially at bedtime. 

“But you said ‘suck,’” Michal pointed out. “When I told DaSa that his hair looked nice.”

Sam started silently laughing and Dean glaring at him didn’t even phase him a bit. “You’re right and when I’m done with the story, I’ll put some money in the swear jar.” He gave Michael his best innocent-Daddy look. “Unless you want me stop the story and do it now?”

“No!” Danny yelled. “Story.”

“Please finish the story first,” Michael pleaded, with significantly more politeness than his younger sibling. 

“Okay, story it is.” Dean got back to it. “Now, Impala was strong and tireless, but even she needed to refuel once in a while.”

Michael frowned. “What do metal dragons eat?” 

Dean looked down at the stuffed dinosaur that Danny cradled and realized that explaining about fossil fuel just wasn’t going to work. Thinking fast, he came up with an alternative.

“Well, you know how some days, the sun doesn’t shine?” Dean asked. He continued after both the boys nodded. “Well, the sun is still out there, even when we can’t see it, doing its job and making sunlight. When the sunlight can’t make it all the way to the ground, it gathers into these big pools and that’s what metal dragons eat. Drink, actually. Sunlight.”

“Wow,” Danny murmured, clearly awed. “What’s sun taste like?”

Dean scratched the back of his neck. “You know in the winter, after you’ve walked across the carpet and get shocked when you touch something?” Danny nodded. “That little spark, that’s what sunlight tastes like.”

“Getting shocked’s not a taste,” Michael pointed out. “It’s a feeling.”

“Who’s telling this story?” Dean complained. “Me or you?”

“You, DeeDee,” Michael grinned. “Sorry.”

“Okay, well,” Dean frowned. “Where was I?”

“Impala was hungry,” Danny told him.

“Yeah, right. Thanks, Danny. Impala needed to refuel, so she told the brave knights she had to leave,” Dean continued. “Sir Dean and Sir Sam were sad to see her go, but they knew she had to take care of herself. So they waved goodbye and told her that they’d see her after she did her thing. Knowing they’d see their friend soon, Sir Dean and Sir Sam went back to their job of saving people.”

“Did they miss Impala?” Danny asked.

“Well, sure they did,” Dean replied, “but they still had each other and for Sir Sam and Sir Dean, that was always enough.”

Dean glanced at Sam as he said that last bit. For some reason, his brother had a tender expression on his face, the same one he’d often gotten while looking at the boys when they were babies.

The big girl.

“Anyway, Sir Dean and Sir Sam went back to hunting things and saving people,” Dean returned to the tale. “But I don’t need to tell you that because you’ve heard all those stories.”

“Like the one about the lady who lived in a mirror?” Michael asked. “Or when they had to stop the evil witch Cassie from stealing people’s hearts?”

“Wendigo!” Danny yelled.

“Exactly,” Dean nodded, although neither boy truly knew what a wendigo was. He’d toned that story down a lot. “Sir Sam and Sir Dean were so busy that weeks went by before they realized that Impala had never returned.”

“Uh-oh,” Danny’s eyes were wide.

Michael frowned. “Did they go look for her?”

“You bet,” Dean confirmed, “because Sir Dean and Sir Sam would never turn their backs on a friend. They knew the general direction that the Sunshine Lake was in, so Sir Dean and Sir Sam headed that way. They had many adventures while they were traveling.”

“Like what?” Deanny asked.

Dean tweaked the little boy’s nose. “That’s for another night. This story’s keeping you up late enough the way it is.”

“Awww. . . . “ Danny protested. Dean ignored him, knowing that the going to bed after the story was not his youngest son’s favorite activity.

“The Sunshine Lake was on the top of the world’s largest mountain,” Dean went on. “It was so tall that it stuck up beyond the clouds, so nothing could block the sunshine from pooling. The mountain was so tall that Sir Sam and Sir Dean could see it for days and days before they got close. At every village they passed, they stopped to ask if anyone had seen a large, black dragon, but no one had.”

Michael’s expression was concerned. “A dragon’s pretty big, how could they not see her?”

Dean pointed at his son. “Exactly. Sir Dean and Sir Sam began to get very worried about their friend. In fact, Sir Sam’s lower lip began to tremble and stick out, like he was about to cry.” Dean demonstrated, causing the boys to giggle and Sam to roll his eyes.

“Eventually they neared the base of the mountain and Sir Sam noticed something strange about the villagers in the town that was there,” Dean went on. “He pointed out that a man was using a saw made of wood to cut down a tree.”

“That wouldn’t work very well,” Michael stated.

“I know, that’s why the guy was all red in the face and crabby,” Dean explained. “So, Sir Sam approached the man. ‘We’re new around here,’ he told the stranger, ‘But where we’re from, metal saws work a lot better.’”

“’Ya think?’ The stranger growled without looking up from his chopping.’” Dean put a rumble in his voice. “’I’m not as stupid as you look.’”

“Ooooh, he not nice,” Danny commented.

“Cutting down a big tree with a wood saw is hard work,” Dean explained. “That’s why he was crabby. But Sir Dean didn’t like the tone the man used with Sir Sam any more than you did. ‘Where we’re from,’ Sir Dean told him, ‘people don’t insult people who carry swords.’”

“The crabby stranger finally looked at them and paled. ‘You do have swords,’ he stammered. ‘Metal swords.’”

“’Well, yeah,’ Sir Dean told him. ‘We tried swords made out of flowers, but they didn’t work so good.’”

Danny giggled, but Michael had another question. “If this village was near the Sunshine Lake that Impala drank from and she’s a metal dragon, wouldn’t they know what metal is?”

“’Exactly,” Dean grinned; Michael was a sharp kid. “‘Has anyone else seen you?’ The stranger asked. ‘Does anyone know you’re here?’”

“The villages had gotten fewer and farther between the closer Sir Dean and Sir Sam got to the mountain, so Sir Sam told him that they hadn’t seen anyone for three days. ‘Good,’ the stranger said. ‘We might be in time to save you.’”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Michael stated.

“No, it doesn’t, but Sir Sam and Sir Dean weren’t scared,” Dean told him. “And they were itching to know what the guy meant by that, so they agreed to follow him to his house.”

“On the way there, both Sir Sam and Sir Dean noticed something odd. The saw wasn’t the only thing that should have been made of metal, but wasn’t. The shutters were fastened to the houses with strips of leather, not hinges. The bell on a cow was made out of shell instead of brass. Even the knife the woodcutter wore was carved out of stone.”

“Once they were at the man’s house, he brought them inside and reassured his wife that everything was okay. Sir Dean waited until they were drinking tea out of clay mugs before demanding an explanation.”

“’What’s going on around here?’ Sir Dean asked. ‘Chopping down a tree with a wooden saw is just lame, dude.’”

“The woodcutter took his wife’s hand. ‘It’s been bad around here ever since that scrap wizard showed up.’”

“DeeDee, that’s a bad word!” Danny exclaimed.

Dean had to think about it for a minute and then he grinned. “No, buddy, S-C-R-A-P. Scrap is a word that means pieces of stuff that’s left over after you’re finished with something.”

“Like table scraps,” Michael added. “Which we’re not supposed to feed the dogs.”

“Joxer likes people food,” Danny complained.

“I know, but it’s bad for his tummy,” Dean explained. “Do you want to hear about the scrap wizard or not?”

Danny subsided. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Dean continued. “Now, Sir Dean and Sir Sam had never heard of a scrap wizard before, so they asked the woodcutter to explain. He told them that the scrap wizard had shown up a year before and took all of the village’s metal. The farmers had no metal for their plows, the horses had no shoes for their hooves and the soldiers all had to resign because they didn’t have any weapons. The woodcutter’s wife didn’t even have a pot to cook in.”

“Sir Dean exchanged a worried glance with Sir Sam. If metal was being harvested, the situation did not bode well for a metal dragon.”

“’Have you seen a black dragon come by here?’” Sir Sam asked. “’We’re looking for our friend.’”

“’Oh, yes, the Lady Impala,’” the woodcutter’s wife’s eyes filled with tears. “’We begged her not to go.’”

“Living so close to the Sunshine Lake, the whole village was used to visits from Impala when she came to refuel. Upon hearing of the scrap wizard, she’d immediately flown off to confront him.”

“’This is not good, Sam,’ Sir Dean said. He was so upset that he forgot to use Sir. ‘If this guy was after metal, Impala would have been like an all-you-can-eat buffet.’”

“’We’ll rescue her,’ Sir Sam told him. ‘After all the times she’s helped us, we won’t let Impala down.’”

“The couple told Sir Dean and Sir Sam that the scrap wizard could sniff out metal. At their suggestion, the knights buried their swords and armor under the floor of the now-empty smithy in the hopes that the lingering scent of old metal would hide the weapons. Then they went off towards the mountain, where the woodcutter and his wife told them that the scrap wizard had his lair.”

“With no weapons?” Michael asked. It was hard to tell who’s eyes were wider, his or his younger brother’s.

“Your best weapon is always right here,” Dean tapped the side of his head. “Sir Sam and Sir Dean knew that. They weren’t too happy at leaving their swords behind, but they knew they’d figure something out.”

“Sir Dean and Sir Sam moved carefully up the mountain. Before they were too high for trees to grow, Sir Sam picked up a large branch. He swung it like a baseball bat; it would make a good cudgel. Sir Dean tore off a strip of his shirt and, once he’d found some rocks the right size, he had a sling.”

“They climbed all day until they were above the tree line and snow was crunching underneath their feet. As it grew dark, they could see a glow coming from ahead of them. Sir Dean and Sir Sam knew from the description from the woodcutter and his wife that it was the scrap wizard’s hideout. The glow was coming from the entrance of a long tunnel. Moving as quietly as they could, Sir Dean and Sir Sam snuck close enough to peek inside.”

There were no more interruptions from his audience. Michael and Danny were quiet as mice as they listened avidly. Dean stifled a grin. He briefly considered pretending to be done for the night, but figured Sam would kill him. The kids were likely to protest so much that they’d get all wound up and never sleep.

“Sure enough, it was the evil scrap wizard’s lair,” Dean went on. “He was in there, his wizard’s robe clanking as he moved. Even his clothes were metal. They also saw where the glow was coming from. The mountain wasn’t just a mountain; it was a volcano. The wizard’s lair was set up right next to a river of lava.”

“Was Impala there?” Michael asked.

“Yup,” Dean replied. “But they didn’t see her at first. Sir Dean thought to look up, though, and there she was. Hanging from the ceiling, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.”

“Poor Impala,” Danny said. “Mean ol’ scrap wizard.”

“While they watched, the scrap wizard lifted his arms and a stream of liquid metal shot up into the air. The scrap wizard clapped his hands, he was so happy, but the liquid metal collapsed. The scrap wizard wasn’t too jazzed about that, but he didn’t pout for long.”

“’Well, my dear,’ the scrap wizard said to Impala. ‘It appears that just using a scale or two from you isn’t enough to make metal live. I’m going to need a bigger piece of you. Like a wing. Or maybe two.’”

“No!” Danny protested. “Impala can’t fly without wings.”

“That’s why he was an evil scrap wizard,” Dean told them. “While the scrap wizard sharpened his knives, Sir Sam and Sir Dean whispered plans back and forth.”

“Impala had started struggling to get free when the scrap wizard announced his plan. Worried that she’d hurt herself, Sir Dean peeked out from behind a rock and put a finger to his lips. Impala stopped fighting the ropes, realizing that her friends were there to help her. She still glared at the scrap wizard, though, and if looks could kill, then he would’ve been a goner.”

“Sir Sam and Sir Dean made some hasty preparations and by the time the evil scrap wizard finished with his knives, they were ready. It was hard to watch him approached their helpless friend, but the knights knew they had to wait until the moment was right.”

“’Don’t worry, I’ll cut carefully,’” the wizard told Impala as he drew near. ‘I need you to survive in case I want to cut off other parts of you some day.’”

Danny squeaked and Sam cleared his throat. The warning wasn’t necessary; Dean hadn’t meant to scare the little boy. Danny was so adventurous that it was easy to forget that he wasn’t yet three.

Wrapping an arm around Danny, Dean reassured him. “That would have been real scary for Impala if she was alone, but she knew her friends were there and were going to make sure nothing happened to her.”

Dean felt his son’s body relax. “I know, DeeDee.”

“Sir Dean and Sir Sam knew it was time to act,” Dean continued, “so as they’d agreed, Sir Dean stepped out into the open and used his sling to hit the evil scrap wizard in the head with a rock. When the evil scrap wizard turned around, they could see that he had yellow eyes.”

“All of the monsters in your stories have yellow eyes,” Michael observed.

“That’s because yellow eyes are the scariest thing there is,” Dean told him and then continued. “Sir Dean didn’t let the freaky eyes frighten him, though. ‘Hey, Mr. Clanky Pants,’ he called out to the wizard. ‘Why don’t you try fighting somebody that can fight back?’”

“Yea, Sir Dean!” Danny made a pumping motion with one fist.

Dean grinned at Danny’s enthusiasm. “Well, the scrap wizard, he wasn’t so glad to see Sir Dean. ‘I eat heroes like you for breakfast,’ the evil scrap wizard told Sir Dean. ‘You look like you’d be yummy with some ketchup.’”

“What about Sir Sam?” Michael asked.

“Good question,” Dean reached out and tweaked Michael’s nose. “I was about to get to that. The evil scrap wizard was concentrating on Sir Dean and didn’t see Sir Sam sneak up behind him. Sir Sam was far too noble to hit somebody from behind, even an evil wizard, so he yelled ‘Boo!’”

Sam made a choking sound. “Boo?”

Dean grinned at him. “Yeah, well, there’s a reason that Sir Sam is considered a dork. Anyway, the evil scrap wizard turned around and Sir Sam smacked him with the cudgel and the wizard fell right into the river of lava.”

“Did it hurt him?” Danny’s face scrunched up in concern.

“Nah,” Dean reassured him. “Remember, the scrap wizard was wearing those metal drawers. He got good and hot, though, and when he jumped back out, he was all red and those yellow eyes of his were glowing with fury.”

“’You’ll pay for that!’ He yelled at Sir Sam and Sir Dean. He gestured with his hands, but Sir Sam and Sir Dean had been smart enough to remove anything they had made of metal and they had nothing on them that he could use against him. Instead the knights grinned at him and pulled out what they’d been preparing while the evil scrap wizard was busy sharpening his knives.”

“What?” Michael sat up, his arms around his knees as he waited impatiently for the answer.

“Snowballs,” Dean told him, seeing with satisfaction how surprised his answer made both boys. “See, the thing about dorks is, they’re usually pretty smart. Sir Sam knew that if they got the evil scrap wizard real, real hot and then made him cold, that the metal he was made of would get brittle and frozen.”

“So, before the evil scrap wizard could use any of the metal in his lair as a weapon,” Dean continued, “Sir Sam and Sir Dean lobbed snowball after snowball at him. At first they just hissed and steamed against the metal, but it didn’t take long before the evil scrap wizard’s movements got jerky and stiff, like your DaSa when he’s trying to dance.”

“Nice,” Sam muttered from the doorway.

Dean grinned at him again. “Before you could say ‘clanky pants,’ the evil scrap wizard was frozen into place, the only sign of life his blazing yellow eyes. Otherwise he looked like a statue.”

“Yea,” Danny’s yell of triumph was muted by a yawn. It was getting late.

“What did Sir Dean and Sir Sam do with him then?” Michael asked. “They couldn’t leave him like that, could they?”

“They were tempted,” Dean admitted, “having pigeons poop on him would serve the evil scrap wizard right, after all the harm he’d done, but they thought of something better.”

Danny didn’t lift his head from Dean’s shoulder and his eyes were starting to droop as he asked, “What?”

“Sir Dean and Sir Sam decided that they’d deliver Mr. Clanky Pants to the good witch Missouri,” Dean told the boys. “With her mighty Wooden Spoon of Discipline, she’d keep the wizard out of trouble and teach him the error of his ways.”

“What happened to Impala?” Michael asked. His question was followed by a yawn. Now that the story was almost complete, he was getting as sleepy as his brother.

“They cut her loose, of course,” Dean told him. “And she went flying up in the air and did a bunch of acrobatics before coming back down and thanking her friends.”

“And then what?” Michael asked. Danny didn’t chime in; he was asleep against Dean’s chest.

“And then they went on lots of adventures, which we’ll hear about some other night,” Dean stood, careful not to jostle Danny awake, and bent to kiss Michael on the forehead. “Good night, Mikey.”

“Night, DeeDee,” Michael smiled sleepily. “I liked the story.”

“Good,” Dean replied. He watched as Sam came fully into the room and kissed Michael too.

“Good night, Michael,” Sam told their son. “Sweet dreams.”

Michael murmured indistinctly and turned over. The brothers let the room quietly, not wanting to wake either child. Sam proceeded Dean into Danny’s room, pulling back the covers so that Dean could put the boy into bed. They both kissed Danny and Sam went out first, Dean needing to put up the bed rail before he could leave. 

Sam was waiting for him when Dean stepped out into the hallway.

“So, let me get this straight,” Sam huffed. “I’m a dork with bad hair, can’t think of anything better than ‘boo’ to distract the bad guy and I can’t dance.”

Dean wasn’t fooled; Sam’s eyes were twinkling with mischief. “Well, yeah. Don’t forget, though, that it was Sir Sam’s planning that saved the day.”

“Uh-huh.” Sam crossed his arms across his chest. “Right.”

“Absolutely,” Dean grinned. “Besides, it’s just a story; even Danny knows the difference.”

“I can too dance.” Sam crossed the short distance between them.

“With those big feet of yours?” Dean scoffed. “I don’t think so.”

Sam pressed forward until Dean was flat against the wall. “I wasn’t talking about vertical dancing. I was referring to the other kind.”

Dean flushed and licked his lips. “Prove it.”

So Sam took him to the bedroom and did just that.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted February 21, 2009


	96. Easter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is three years old.

Dean woke quickly when he felt Sam abruptly leave the bed. It was a habit so ingrained by years of training that he doubted it would ever fade, even though they hadn’t actively hunted much since Michael was born.

“What?” Dean’s hand automatically went under his pillow, but his knife wasn’t there. He’d stopped using his pillow as a hiding place when Michael had gotten old enough get out of bed on his own and toddle into their room.

“I think I hear Michael talking,” Sam whispered in a hoarse voice.

In most households, no doubt that would be little cause for concern. They were Winchesters, though, and knew there were all sorts of unsavory reasons that a three year-old could be having a conversation in the middle of the night.

Dean joined his brother in getting out of bed and, as one, the two moved to the door. As they got into the hallway, though, they both noticed that there was a soft light coming from the open door of the guest room. The sight made them relax. Having John Winchester home for the holidays was still an unusual enough occurrence that they’d forgotten that their dad had arrived earlier in the day.

Sam let out a big sigh of relief and Dean did the same, although more quietly. They exchanged sheepish glances and walked the rest of the way to their son’s room in a calmer manner. Once there, by unspoken agreement, they stopped just outside. 

“I promise, Mikey,” they heard their father tell their son. “The Easter Bunny is not going to come in here.” 

“But what if he peeks in my room?” Michael’s voice sounded a little querulous and it took everything Dean had not to go in and comfort him. From the spastic opening and shutting of Sam’s hands, he felt the same.

“He’s not going to peek, kiddo,” John was quick to reassure the little boy. “He’s got bigger and better things to do; he’s too busy delivering candy to all those houses to be sneaking a look into any bedrooms.”

“But the Easter Bunny is magic, like Santa,” Michael protested. Dean snorted, the kid was only three, but had Sam’s stubborn streak and ability to reason. “He’d have time, I betcha.”

There was a distinct pause and Dean imagined that he could hear the gears in his dad’s mind frantically turning, as John tried to come up with something that would appease the boy. Dean could sympathize because he often found himself in the same predicament. 

“What does Xena do when she sees a rabbit?” John finally asked.

Xena slept in Michael’s room and Dean heard a soft jingle when his father said her name. No doubt the dog recognized the reference to her and was wagging her tail.

Michael’s voice, when he answered, sounded dubious. “She barks.”

“Right,” John replied. “So if an Easter Bunny peeked into your room, don’t you think she’d bark real loud?”

“Maybe,” Michael sounded far from convinced. “But if the Easter Bunny’s magic, maybe she wouldn’t.”

“Your Uncle Bobby trained her,” John pointed out. “Xena wouldn’t be scared of a fluffy Easter Bunny, even if he was magic.” Michael didn’t answer and Dean suspected that the boy still didn’t look like he was buying what his grandfather was trying to sell him. “And, besides, your dads are in the room next to yours, you really think they’d let the Easter Bunny anywhere near your room?”

“No.”

It did Dean’s ego good to sense absolutely no hesitation or doubt in his son’s voice over that point.

“I’m right across the hall too,” John went on. “If the Easter Bunny’s stupid enough to try and stick his nose where it doesn’t belong, well, he’s in for a surprise.”

“What kind of surprise?” Michael sounded curious rather than scared, which was a huge improvement as far as Dean was concerned.

He could hear John snort in response to the question.

“Can you imagine your DeeDee waking up to find a bunny with basket full of candy in the hallway?” John asked. “He’d tie that rabbit’s ears in a knot and then take all the candy.”

Sam grinned and nudged Dean, who nudged back. Secretly, though, he was pleased.

“DaSa would make him share,” Michael yawned while he said it.

“Yeah, I think he would,” John agreed. “Now, do you feel better?”

“Uh-huh.”

The soft sound of fabric rustling could be heard and Dean imagined that John was tucking Michael back in. “Go back to sleep now.”

“Grandpa, will you stay until I do?” From the sleepiness in Michael’s voice, it wouldn’t take long for that to happen.

“Sure, buddy,” came John’s ready reply. “Be happy to.”

Dean felt a little choked up with how tender John was being with Michael. He just barely remembered his dad being that way when he was Michael’s age. Unfortunately, John had gotten a lot harder after Mary Winchester died; apparently being a grandfather had softened him up some.

“Come on,” Dean whispered. “Crisis resolved; let’s go back to bed.”

Sam shook his head. “You can if you want to, but I want to wait a minute.”

Dean didn’t like the sound of that. Although it was fine now, Sam’s relationship with their dad had been too rocky for too long for Dean to take anything between the other two Winchesters for granted. The last thing he wanted, especially in the middle of the night, was to referee a spat between Sam and John.

Thankfully Dean wasn’t left to fret about it for long. It didn’t take but a few minutes for John to come out of Michael’s room; the little boy must have fallen asleep even quicker than Dean had expected. When he caught sight of them, John pulled up short, and then relaxed into a sheepish smile.

“I was awake doing some research,” John stated quietly as they all moved a few feet from Michael’s room. “I’m sure that’s why I heard him before you did.”

“You,” Sam cleared his throat before continuing. “You handled that well.”

John’s eyebrows went up. “You sound surprised, Sam.”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t think that’s the way you would have reacted when I was little.”

To Dean’s mild surprise, John didn’t get angry at Sam’s statement. In the low light in the hallway, it was hard to tell, but Dean almost could believe that John Winchester was blushing.

“Well, my days of handing a frightened child a loaded weapon and telling him to deal with it are long over,” John admitted. “In fact, I’m proud of you boys for a lot of things, but I think what I’m most proud of is the fact that you’re much better fathers than I was. Lord knows where you learned it, because it certainly wasn’t me.”

“Come on, Dad,” Dean protested. “You weren’t that bad.”

John snorted. “Really? I notice that your brother isn’t arguing with me about it.”

“You did kind of suck,” Sam replied, but there was no heat in it. Rather than ripping into John for past mistakes, though, Sam grinned hugely. “But you totally rock as a grandfather. Thanks, Dad.”

It was hard to tell who was more surprised, Dean or John, when Sam pulled their father into a big bear hug. Dean had a feeling that the way John stiffened before bringing his arms up to hug Sam back was how he used to react to hugs. Thankfully, Sam had taught him a different way before Mikey had arrived and it looked like Sam was working his magic on their father too.

With a last thump to John’s back, Sam let him go. “I’m proud of you, Dad.”

“Well, I guess I better get back to it, then,” John rather awkwardly changed the subject. Sam was smart, though, and didn’t try to stop him. “You boys better get back in bed. That son of yours is going to be up at the crack of dawn and I’m guessing he’ll have forgotten all about being afraid of the Easter Bunny by then.”

“Goodnight, Dad,” Dean said with a grin. “See you in the morning.”

Dean leaned into Sam as they watched their father shuffle back into his room. When he was in and shut the door, Sam tried to tug Dean back to their bedroom. This time, however, Dean was the one that resisted.

“Don’t you want to get some sleep?” Sam asked.

“All this talk of the Easter Bunny woke up my sweet tooth,” Dean growled.

Sam’s eyes widened with dismay. “You are not raiding Michael’s Easter basket.”

“Of course not,” Dean huffed. “But the Easter Bunny had better have held back some stuff for me.” His eyes narrowed when Sam started laughing.

“You are so predictable,” Sam teased, but he fell in line as Dean started down the hall towards the kitchen. “I didn’t make you a basket, but there’s some leftover candy in the cabinet.”

Dean rubbed his hands together. “And it wouldn’t do for Mikey to find that candy, would it? He’d have a whole different set of questions about the Easter Bunny then.”

“I guess we’ll have to make the sacrifice and eat it before Mikey wakes up,” Sam stated. “But, Dean, what are you going to do if the real Easter Bunny shows up?”

“Weren’t you listening?” Dean asked facetiously as they entered the kitchen. “I’d tie a knot in his ears.”

Sam’s grin was almost a leer. “And would you share your candy with me?”

Dean groaned. Damn Sam for acting flirty when their dad was in the house and Dean couldn’t pounce him. “I don’t share my candy with anybody but you.”

“Good,” Sam replied smugly as he reached up to open an upper cabinet. With his height, it wasn’t much of a stretch, but the thin fabric of Sam’s t-shirt pulled nice and tight across his back. He retrieved a plastic bag and handed it to Dean. “Here.”

Diving into the bag, Dean was pleased to see there was plenty to go around. He loved his dad and he loved having him home for a holiday, but having the man around did put a cramp in their love life. Luckily, Sam had saved back a good stash of chocolate and not the cheap crap they sold in the drugstore, either. It was the good stuff and Dean was relieved. 

If he was going to need to satisfy his sweet tooth with mere candy, then quality chocolate was as good as a substitute for Sam as he was likely to get.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted April 10, 2009


	97. Uncle Bobby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is about 6, Danny is 18 months

“Maybe we could reschedule or something,” Dean suggested.

Sam rubbed at the back of his neck. “We could, except that this time was a reschedule already and I don’t want Renee’s husband to think we’re avoiding him.”

Dean smirked. “He’s an insurance salesman, Sammy. I’m sure he’s used to it.”

“I work with her,” Sam wasn’t happy pressing the issue, but he didn’t want to alienate a colleague. “I’d really hate to do that again.”

With Sam on the tenure track at the university he was teaching at, the Winchester brothers were finally settled in a way that had them looking at mundane things like life insurance. One of the other professors at Sam’s school was married to someone in the insurance industry and they’d decided to use him as their agent. John was supposed to baby-sit for them for the initial meeting, but he and Liddy had been visiting some of her relatives in Virginia and got caught by bad weather. Unfortunately, neither of the brother’s other friends or colleagues were able to pinch hit as a babysitter.

“We could bring Mikey and Danny with us,” Dean looked uncertain even as he made the suggestion.

Sam took a quick peek into the living room. The boys were quiet at the moment, but that wouldn’t last long. Dean had put in a movie for the two of them to watch, but at 18 months old, it wouldn’t hold Danny’s attention for long.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, they’re too little to hold still long enough for this kind of meeting.” Sam sighed. “I guess we’ll have to cancel after all.”

“You could go and I could stay with the kids?” Dean tried to look bland, but there was a faint hint of hopefulness in both his expression and tone.

“No way,” Sam responded firmly. “You are not going to make me face an insurance agent by myself; we’re doing this together.”

As Sam reached for the phone, Dean muttered something under his breath that might have been ‘chicken.’ Before Sam could make his call, though, there was a knock at the front door. Dean went to answer it and Sam watched, waiting to see if it was by any chance some last minute reprieve from having to cancel their appointment. It was a distinct possibility. Since the dogs were outside and not pitching a hissy, then their visitor was someone that the family knew well and considered a friend. 

“Bobby,” Dean enthusiastically greeted their visitor. He took Bobby’s hand and pulled him forward for a quick hug. “Look, Sam, it’s Bobby.”

Bobby gave Dean a suspicious glance before coming the rest of the way into the house. “Hey there, Sam. What’s wrong?”

Sam grinned. “Who said anything was wrong?”

“You boys are always glad to see me, but never so much as when your asses are in a sling,” Bobby grunted.

“Uncle Bobby!”

Michael ran from the other room and threw himself at Bobby’s knees. Bobby forgot about the older Winchesters in a heartbeat. He knelt next to Michael and so was at just the right level to catch Danny, who’d been following his older brother just as fast as his chubby little legs would allow.

“BoBo!” Danny crowed, hugging Bobby as well as he could, given the size difference.

Bobby looked up at Sam and Dean, an almost shy look on his face. “I guess they’re glad to see me.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much a given,” Dean replied, looking at the threesome fondly.

Sam let the greeting go on for a minute and then interrupted. “Look, Bobby, we need a favor.”

Bobby rose to his feet, Michael on one hip and Danny on the other. “So what else is new?”

“How do you feel about babysitting?” Dean asked.

“These two?” Bobby asked, bouncing the boys so they squealed.

“No,” Dean replied sarcastically. “The other two kids we have.”

“DeeDee,” Michael protested. “No teasing! Me and Danny are the only kids.”

“And the two of you hooligans are more than enough,” Dean poked Michael gently in the stomach, making the small boy laugh and try to hide in Bobby’s arms.

“I think I can manage,” Bobby drawled. “I looked after you ijits when you were Michael and Danny’s age, didn’t I?”

Sam smiled. “That’s what we’re afraid of.”

Michael frowned. “What’s a ijit?”

Bobby put him down before answering. “Well, I guess an ijit’s a way of saying someone’s being silly.”

“It sounds like ‘idiot,’” Michael’s eyes narrowed. “And idiot is a feel bad word. At school, Ms. Andrew says we’re not supposed to say those.”

Sam saw Bobby flinch and felt for the man. Sometimes being around a child could be an eye-opening experience and not always in a pleasant way. 

“Well, it’s not meant to make people feel bad, but just in case, I’ll stop saying it,” Bobby offered.

“That’s not necessary, Bobby,” Dean interjected. “Mikey, just because a word sounds like another one, doesn’t make them the same thing. Ijit is a family word and it’s meant to let someone you care about know that they’re doing something that’s not so smart.”

Michael’s face screwed up in thought. “So’s they won’t get in trouble?”

“Exactly,” Dean confirmed. “But it’s a family word, so don’t go using it at school or anything.”

“Like a secret code or something?” Michael bounced with excitement. With Sam’s pregnancy, Michael had proven he could keep a secret, but anything to help it be more fun was welcome.

Dean nodded. “Exactly.”

Sam ruffled Michael’s hair. “Why don’t you two go back to your movie while your dad and I fill Bobby in on where we’re going and how long we’ll be gone.”

“Yeah, and we’ll probably talk about golf and the evening news too,” Dean added when he saw that Michael was hesitating. “Might even work socks and underwear into the conversation.”

Michael wrinkled his nose. “Boring grownup stuff.”

“Boring grownup stuff,” Sam assured him. “Don’t worry, you’re going to have Uncle Bobby all to yourself for a couple of hours.”

Bobby set Danny down on the floor so he could join his brother, but Danny was having nothing of it. “BoBo,” he demanded as he took Bobby’s hand and tried to pull him towards the TV room.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Bobby reassured the child. “Now git.”

Much to Sam and Dean’s surprise, Danny listened. Chortling, the little boy let Bobby go and toddled after his brother.

“So, do you want to stay here, like, forever?” Dean asked. Sam could tell that the awe in his brother’s voice was only partially feigned. Danny was not always the most tractable child.

“You had ‘em, you get to raise ‘em. Thanks to my honorary uncle status, I get to spoil ‘em and leave things for you to fix.” Bobby grinned. “Now where are you boys off to that you need a babysitter?”

“We're having a meeting with an insurance advisor,” Sam explained. “Doing the whole financial planning thing.”

Bobby whistled. “You going in packin? Those things are worse blood suckers than vamps.”

Dean grimaced. “Very funny. You sure you can handle the kids?”

“I’ve hunted demons, ghosts and werewolves,” Bobby snorted. “I think I can manage two little boys, even if they’re your two little boys.”

“Yeah,” Dean grinned. “But you’re not as young as you used to be, BoBo.”

Sam grabbed Dean by the shoulder before his brother teased their babysitter enough to make Bobby change his mind about watching the kids. “Come on, Dean.” He addressed his next words to Bobby. “We’ll only be gone a couple of hours and both of us have our cell phones on if you need anything.”

Bobby waved them off as he walked towards the room where the boys were. “Just go. We’ll be fine.”

The brothers briefly went into the other room as well, to kiss their children goodbye. Sam was amused that neither boy paid much attention; both were too focused on their favorite uncle. From the amused glint in his eye, Dean felt the same way.

“I guess we know when we’re not wanted,” Dean grinned as they headed out to the Impala.

“Yeah, well, who wants a plain ol’ dad when Uncle Bobby’s around?” Sam replied. Joxer and Xena came up briefly to see what they were up to, running off after taking a quick sniff of their hands.

Since there was no child to buckle up into a car seat, the brothers were headed out to their meeting with no fuss. Dean plunked in a cassette tape and, with a grin at Sam, turned the volume up to a level just short of deafening.

“Just like old times, huh, Sammy?” Dean asked.

Sam knew his brother loved their sons every bit as much as he did, but he could understand what Dean was implying. The open road, with just the two of them, was a very seductive thing.

“If you leave out that we’re going to meet with an insurance planner and that we have two kids waiting for us at home, then, yeah,” Sam replied. He understood Dean’s sentiment, but couldn’t help teasing.

“What do you say, Sammy? Bobby didn’t seem to mind watching the kids. You up for a little foolin’ around after we meet with this guy?” Dean waggled his eyebrows at his brother. “I bet there’s an underpass around here somewhere with our name on it.”

“I can just see it now,” Sam scoffed. “Headline reads ‘Local Prof Caught with His Ass Up and His Pants Down.’”

“Might improve your reputation, if you ask me,” Dean retorted.

Sam grinned. “Just shut up, you perve, and drive.”

It didn’t take long to reach office building that Renee’s husband worked out of. Another reason they’d chosen him was that he worked weekends. He was the only one in his building that did, though, and so they didn’t see anyone else as they entered.

“Hello?” Sam called out as they entered the small lobby of the insurance office.

“Hey there, you must be Sam, I’m Paul,” a middle-aged man came out of the back, his hand out and his smile friendly. “Renee’s told me a lot about you.”

Given that the man didn’t do a double take at seeing how tall Sam was, Sam figured that was probably true. “Thanks and this is my partner, Dean.”

“Of course, of course,” Paul shook Sam’s hand enthusiastically before turning to Dean. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Dean looked uncomfortable, but Sam could hardly blame him. Sam had been striving for normality his entire life, but wasn’t much more skilled at actually living it than Dean.

“We appreciate you seeing us on the weekend,” Sam added.

Paul shrugged. “The insurance business isn’t known for its steady hours. I’d rather come into the office for a couple of hours on a Saturday, helping a couple set up their future, than be called out in the middle of the night to assess someone’s tragedy like a house fire.”

On that cheery note, the three of them entered Paul’s office and got down to business. Sam fully expected Dean to mentally check out of the whole conversation, but to his pleased surprise, Dean stuck with it and even asked some very astute questions. Sam was glad; his head was spinning by the time they’d been at it for an hour. By the end of two, his brain was practically mush.

“Look, take what I’m proposing home and think about it,” Paul encouraged them. “This is your family’s future; you shouldn’t rush into any big decisions.”

“Thanks,” Sam was grateful. “It’s a lot to think about.”

“It hits everybody that way,” Paul stood and walked them to the door. “Go home and hug your kids and hope this stuff never has to be used.”

“You’re the non-pushiest salesman I ever met,” Dean admitted.

Grinning, Paul shrugged. “I’m no angel. Besides, I know where Sam works, so I’ll have no trouble tracking him down.”

After a final handshake with Paul, the brothers walked back to where the Impala was parked. They were both silent until they reached the car.

“Well, that was fun,” Dean stated. His car door was open and he leaned against the metal body, looking over the roof of the Impala at Sam.

Sam sagged against the Impala on the other side. “Yeah.” He glanced down for a minute before lifting his head. “Let’s go home.”

There was no more suggestion of fooling around on the way home. Both brothers had long been used to the idea of their own mortality, but it was different now that there were children to consider. They’d said all the heavy things in the days before confronting the demon, but both of them were eager to get back to the house and see their boys.

When they got there, however, the place was quiet. There were no boys immediately to be seen, nor was Bobby in sight.

“We’re back,” Sam called softly after they let themselves in. No one answered.

“Huh,” Dean looked around, but like Sam, didn’t see anyone. 

“I wonder where everyone went?” Sam could here faint barking and from the sounds of it, the dogs were out back. “Maybe in the backyard?”

Dean shrugged. “One way to find out.” He raised his voice. “Yo, anybody home?”

Light footsteps were heard above and then there was the soft thump-thump-thump that was Danny going down the stairs one step at a time.

“D-D-D-D-D-D-D!” Danny yelled as he reached the bottom and launched himself at them. 

“Hey there, short stuff,” Dean greeted the little boy as he scooped him in his arms. “Does Uncle Bobby know you’re wearin’ his hat?”

Danny did indeed have Bobby’s frayed baseball cap on. It covered the child’s eyes, but he didn’t seem to mind. “BoBo,” Danny crowed, pushing it back so he could see, but not taking the hat off.

“Yeah, BoBo,” Sam agreed as he reached to take Danny from Dean. He kissed Danny noisily on the cheek. “How come he’s okay with wearing Bobby’s hat, but when we try to put one on him, it’s off in five seconds?”

Dean shrugged. “Bobby’s got the baby mojo.”

“Hi DeeDee, Hi DaSa,” Michael had followed his little brother down the stairs, but at a little more reasonable rate. “Uncle Bobby’s gonna take us to Chuck E. Cheese.”

Sam exchanged a look with Dean. “He is?”

“Uh-huh,” Michael nodded enthusiastically. “Just me and Danny.”

“Really?” Dean’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You didn’t ask him to take you, did you?”

Sam stifled a snicker. Bobby has a hardened hunter, but had a tendency to cave when Michael wanted something.

“Nope,” Michael shook his head. “But I bet he’d take you and DaSa too if you asked.” He held up a finger in warning. “But you should say please.”

Just then Bobby came down the stairs, short of breath. Sam was almost afraid to ask what games the boys had demanded that the older hunter play with them. Bobby’s hair was thinning and, without his usual hat, the light reflected off the bare spot on his head.

“Well, dang, they beat me to the punch,” Bobby said as he made it all the way down. “I was going to ask you if it was okay, but I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

“We don’t mind, exactly,” Sam explained. “It’s just that few adults willingly go somewhere like Chuck E. Cheese.”

Bobby snorted. “Well, I ain’t most adults. A little thing like an arcade don’t scare me none.” He took Michael by the hand and reached for Danny. “Besides, I figured the two of you might like some alone time.”

Sam handed over Danny and looked at Dean, who just shrugged. “Okay.”

“If they’re together, though,” Michael pointed out to his ‘uncle.’ “Then they’re not alone.”

“Grownups like alone time together,” Bobby explained as he headed them towards the door. “Never you no mind why.” 

Dean’s eyes were twinkling. “You’re in an awful big hurry there, Bobby.”

“Want to beat the crowds,” Bobby replied. “Don’t worry, I got Sam’s SUV keys out of the bowl in the kitchen. We’ll use the car seats all right and proper. Be back in a couple of hours.”

With that, Bobby left, the two excited children with him. The brothers looked at each other and shrugged.

“That was a bribe if I ever heard one,” Sam pointed out, grinning.

“Ya think?” Dean snorted. He crossed the room to where they kept the swear jar. “Just what I thought.”

Dean held up the clear glass jar, which was normally just held change. A couple of bills had been added to it since Sam had last checked and, from the look of them, they were 20’s.

Sam’s grin grew. “You think Bobby found out that babysitting wasn’t quite as easy as he thought?”

“That’d be my guess,” Dean replied, returning the jar to its normal spot. “He was in a mighty big hurry to leave.”

The barking was still coming from the back yard and Sam ambled over to see what the dogs were up to. When he looked out the window, though, he did a double take.

“Dean,” Sam called out to his brother in a strangled voice. “Come over here a minute, please.”

It took just a moment for Dean to arrive at Sam’s side. “What’s the matter?”

Sam nodded at the window. “Look out there.”

Dean did as instructed and was silent for a long pause. “Huh. Isn’t Xena supposed to be white?”

“She was when we left,” Sam replied.

“We have a purple dog,” Dean stated. “We’re two gay men and we have a purple dog.”

“It’s actually closer to lavender, I think,” Sam corrected him.

Dean rolled his eyes. “That’s ever so much better, thanks.”

The two of them watched their formally white dog run around the back yard for a few minutes. Being a different color didn’t seem to bother Xena at all. She and Joxer were busy playing a canine version of tag. 

Eventually, Dean started to laugh, low and dirty.

“What?” Sam asked.

“What do you want to bet that Michael convinced Bobby to bring out the finger painting set?” Dean explained. “The one he got for his birthday."

The set had been a gift and supposedly the paints would wash off everything but the special paper that came with it. Unfortunately, the Winchesters had found that not to be the case and had banished the set until Michael was older and less messy. Michael had been trying to convince them to bring it back out ever since, but after living three weeks with a large splotch of orange on their kitchen table, his fathers had been firm. At least the paints weren’t harmful, even if they were harder than advertised to remove.

Sam started to chuckle, it becoming a full-throated laugh when something else occurred to him. “What do you want to bet that Xena isn’t the only one with purple hair?”

Dean’s eyebrows went up and then his laugh deepened too. “That’s why Danny was wearing Bobby’s hat. The sly old dog.”

The thought of the veteran hunter dealing with a purple dog and a purple child was too much for either brother to handle. They laughed until their sides hurt. Just when they thought they’d gotten themselves under control, one of them would look at the other and it would start all over again.

“No wonder the swear jar got a big donation,” Dean finally said, wiping at his eyes. “I imagine that Bobby cussed a blue streak when he realized what he’d done.”

“Don’t you mean a purple streak?” Sam corrected him.

Dean just grinned and pulled out his cell phone. His waved Sam closer as he hit a pre-programmed number. “Why is our dog purple, Bobby?” Dean demanded when Bobby picked up.

Sam could hear the defensiveness in Bobby’s tone as he answered.

“I just took my eyes off ‘em for a second, Dean, I swear.”

“And does our son have purple hair too?” Sam asked.

Bobby sighed. “They’re quicker than imps, I swear. I thought I’d get Danny a haircut before I bring ‘em back.”

“Nope, we want to see the damage,” Dean replied. 

Sam was glad that he’d said no. They hadn’t had Danny’s hair cut yet and, call him sentimental, but Sam wanted to be present for that.

“All right,” Bobby sounded defeated when he capitulated. “It ain’t really that bad.”

“We’ll be the judge of that,” Dean retorted. “But I know how you can get yourself forgiven.”

Bobby sounded cautious and Sam figured he had reason to be. “What’s that?”

“Give us three hours before you bring ‘em back,” Dean shot back an answer. 

Sam was a little hesitant. Three hours at Chuck E. Cheese was a hell of a punishment. “That’s an awful lot of tokens, Dean.”

“Not a problem,” Bobby had heard Sam, but was quick to agree with Dean’s requirement. “Glad to do it. See you in three hours.”

Bobby broke the connection before Sam could negotiate on his behalf to get Dean down to two hours. 

“That’s a little harsh,” Sam said. “Don’t you think?”

“Apparently our son is purple,” Dean reminded Sam. “I think he got off easy.”

Sam shrugged. “He seemed to think so.” Sam thought about it for a minute. “I wonder what else the boys managed to paint?”

“Don’t know,” Dean sidled closer to Sam. “Don’t really care.”

“Oh, really?” Sam recognized the glint in Dean’s eye, but decided to play coy.

“We have a guaranteed three hours without children in the house,” Dean pointed out. “It’s not a freeway underpass, but what do you say? You wanna go make some noise?”

“I dunno,” Sam hesitated, still teasing. “I’m kind of broke.”

Dean pulled up short. “Broke? What does that have to do with it?”

Sam let his grin break through. “The noise I want to make? I don’t think I have enough money to put in the swear jar to cover it.”

He watched with pleasure as Dean’s eyes darkened. “Oh, I think we can give you a pass. This time.”

Relenting, Sam laughed and took Dean’s hand, tugging him upstairs. Because Sam, like Dean, loved their children fiercely and was determined to plan for their future, but every once in a while, having a short respite from parenthood was a welcome break.

Even if they had a purple dog as a result.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted April 19, 2014


	98. Frequent Stops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted August 25, 2009

Sam saw the familiar road sign and grinned. “Hey, Dean, there’s a rest stop coming up in two miles. You want me to pull over?”

As Dean’s due date approached, Dana had them come in more often for check-ups. Normally it was an easy drive, but unfortunately as the pregnancy progressed, the baby got bigger and put more pressure on Dean’s bladder. As a result Dean needed more bathroom breaks, even on a relatively short trip. Sam thought it was amusing, but it irritated the hell out of Dean and Dean was already crabby because he couldn’t drive. Sam knew he shouldn’t tease him, but he couldn’t help it.

“We just stopped,” Dean took a last slurp of his frozen drink. “At that gas station, not even ten minutes ago.”

“Your point being?” Sam teased. “Are you sure you don’t have to go?”

“No, Sam, I do not need to go to the bathroom ag-. . . ,” Dean growled. “Oh, hell. Now I do need to stop.”

Sam laughed low and dirty. He’d had a small capacity bladder when he was younger and had caught all sorts of hell for it. “We could always get you a bottle to pee in.”

“Very funny, Sammy,” Dean glowered at him. “You know I can’t see my feet, let alone have any sort of aim.”

“I could help you with that,” Sam waggled his eyebrows in an exaggerated leer.

“Are you nuts, you perv?” Dean looked almost alarmed as he stroked the Impala’s dashboard. “Don’t listen to him, baby, nobody’s taking a piss in here.”

Still chuckling, Sam took the appropriate exit from the highway and pulled up to the rest stop’s main building. It was hard to tell what groaned louder, Dean or the car door, as he opened it and lurched to his feet. Sam felt almost guilty at the ease in which he got out of the car.

“You comin’?” Dean looked over the car roof at him.

“No, I think I’ll sit this one out,” Sam was careful to keep even a hint of a smile off his face.

“You suck,” Dean declared, although there was no heat in his voice.

Sam watched fondly as Dean waddled towards the building. He normally wouldn’t dare to openly appreciate that particular effect of Dean’s pregnancy, but Dean had gotten big enough that he couldn’t turn easily. Sam didn’t have to worry about his brother whirling around and catching him at it.

It was a lovely day and Sam stretched as he leaned against the car. They weren’t the only one making use of the rest stop; a beautifully crafted Morgan was parked close by. They’d passed the distinctive vehicle several times during the drive; apparently its occupants needed to stop as much as the Winchesters did. Sam didn’t have the appreciation for classic cars that Dean did, but even he had to admit that it was a beauty. 

He assumed that the car belonged to the dapper-looking older man who was busy in the grassy clearing next to the main building. The gentlemen was attempting to ride herd on a group of small dogs, Corgis by the looks of them. Sam thought of going over and helping, but didn’t know how the dogs would react to a stranger.

“Young man, don’t just sit there like a useless lump.” 

A woman’s voice startled Sam and he looked over to find an elderly woman glaring up at him. She had an English accent and looked as old and frail as aged lace, but her eyes were full of feistiness. She made a frustrated noise as Sam just looked at her and even thumped her cane against the ground in irritation.

“Well, are you going to catch flies with that open mouth of yours or are you going to be a gentleman?” The old woman demanded.

“Excuse me?” Sam was confounded. His first thought was that the old lady wanted him to help round up the dogs. He assumed she was with the dapper-looking man, because there were only the two cars in the parking lot.

“Your young woman,” the old woman waved at the direction Dean had headed. Sam looked and saw that Dean was almost to the building. “The least you could do is hold the door open for her, since she is carrying your child.”

“Um, Dean’s not a woman,” Sam thought the conversation was funny until the second thing she said hit him. “And he’s not pregnant, either.”

“Nonsense,” she poked at Sam with her cane. “I know a gravid woman when I see one and that poor girl is as big as an elephant.” Her eyes lost a bit of focus. “You know that elephants gestate for almost two years. That really is a pity.”

Sam saw an opening for distracting her from her observation of Dean’s pregnancy. “Why’s that?”

The woman looked at him although he were stupid. “If having swollen ankles and having to tinkle every five minutes weren’t enough to endure, think of not having sex for two years, especially with bull elephants being so well endowed. Think of what the poor dears miss out on.” She looked Sam up and down slowly. “Although,from the size of you, perhaps you have something in common with an elephant despite the size of your nose.”

“Mother!”

Sam felt an immense amount of relief as the dapper man strode towards them, the dogs yipping at his heels. He could face down ghosts without batting an eye, but this strange old woman was getting the best of him. Rescue was welcome.

“I’m so sorry,” the newcomer said to Sam. The man put his arm around the old woman’s shoulders. Up close, Sam could see that they shared similar facial features. “Mother gets a bit confused sometimes.”

“I am not confused, Donald,” the elderly lady claimed. “That was a pregnant woman, I don’t care what this young fool says. I’m old, not blind.”

“Dean really is a man,” Sam stated. “Ma’am, I promise you that.”

“Of course he is,” the woman’s son, apparently named Donald, supported Sam. “Mother, I’m a doctor. I should hope I know how to identify a male of the species when I see one.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Donald,” the woman retorted. “No man has such pretty green eyes.”

“Tony does,” Donald pointed out. Sam thought he could sense a hint of desperation in the older man’s voice. “And he’s most definitely a man.”

The old woman faltered. “The Italian gigolo?”

“Yes, that’s exactly the one,” Donald started maneuvering the old woman away. His face as he turned towards Sam was pleading. “I’m so sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam promised him. “I won’t tell Dean she thought he was a girl until you’re safely on the road again.”

Indeed, once it was clear that the old woman was addled enough that no one would take her seriously, Sam started looking forward to telling Dean about the mix-up. Dean had always taken great pleasure in calling Sam a girl; it was time for some pay-back.

“Much obliged,” Donald thanked him. “Much obliged.”

Sam watched as the harried Donald got his mother and the dogs into the car. The unusual pair drove off, both of them waving at Sam. He waved back, smiling openly.

“Who’s that?” Unnoticed, Dean had come back to the Impala while Sam had been distracted.

“Donald and his mother,” Sam told him. “She wanted to know why I didn’t hold the door open for you, since you were so obviously pregnant.”

Dean’s eyes went wide with dismay. “She what?”

Sam couldn’t leave his pregnant brother hanging too long. “Don’t worry, no one will take her seriously.”

“Sam. . . .” Dean clearly was not pleased.

“She’s a very old woman, Dean,” Sam reassured his brother. Since they were currently alone at the rest stop, he leaned forward for a quick kiss. “I’d say she has some sort of dementia; her son was obviously used to her making outlandish statements.” He pursed his lips. “Although, she did imply that I was hung like an elephant, so maybe she’s not so confused after all.”

Dean snorted. “You wish.” He sighed and headed for the passenger side of the car. “Come on, we better hit the road. Maybe we can make five miles before I have to pee again.”

“It’s not that bad,” Sam reassured his brother as he got in the car and started it up.

“Says you,” Dean retorted. He rested his head against the back of the seat and absently rubbed his tummy. “The things I do for you, kid. Mikey, you better appreciate all this when you finally come out of there.”

“He will,” Sam expertly pulled the car out of its spot and headed them towards the highway. Once they were on the road, he put his hand on top of Dean’s, so they both rested on Dean’s swollen belly. “I know I appreciate it.”

His comment made Dean smirk. “You are such a girl.”

Almost, Sam told him about the old woman’s conviction that Dean was a woman. He took one look at the strained expression on Dean’s face, though, and decided not to. Dean had enough to deal with as it was.

But Sam definitely tucked the tidbit away for later use. 

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean is 8 months pregnant


	99. Naptime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is three

Sam Winchester wasn’t quite asleep, but he wasn’t fully awake either. He lay in a fuzzy, contented state in between, his head pillowed on Dean’s lap while his brother watched a game on TV. Dean had the sound turned down low enough that Sam could hear him hum lightly as he carded his fingers through Sam’s hair. Clearly, Sam wasn’t the only one basking in the rosy glow of contentment.

An undetermined time later, Sam heard the distinctive rapid patter of small feet running across the room. Michael was supposed to be doing something outside with John, but obviously had come in to check on his fathers. Sam almost opened one eye to see what was going on, but since Dean’s body remained relaxed, he knew there wasn’t an emergency. 

“Hey, buddy,” Dean called softly as the sound of the running feet got close. “Gotta be real quiet; DaSa’s sleeping.”

“Okay,” Michael’s answering whisper was equally quiet.

Sam could have disagreed with Dean, but from the floaty feeling he was experiencing, he probably was more asleep than anything else. Besides, with his empathy abilities, Michael should have reacted to Sam being awake and he didn’t.

“What’s up, Mikey?” Dean asked their little boy. “Did you need something?”

“No,” the tone of Michael’s voice said otherwise.

“You sure?” Dean pressed. He’d heard the hesitation in Michael’s voice too.

Sam heard Michael sigh. “Is DaSa sick?”

Dean’s hand left off petting Sam’s hair, presumably to offer some sort of reassuring gesture to their son.

“No, we explained that, Mikey,” Dean told the child. “DaSa’s going to have a baby.”

“I know, but he’s sleeping all the time,” Michael complained. 

Sam murmured, deciding it was time to wake up all the way. He simply couldn’t stand the plaintive tone in his three year-old’s voice. Dean’s hand came back, though, and started running through his hair again. “Shh, Sammy. I got this.”

The effect was almost immediate. Sam subsided, melting back into the half-sleep he’d been enjoying. He didn’t drift so far down, though, that he couldn’t track the conversation between his brother and his son.

“Having a baby is a lot of work,” Dean answered Michael.

“It is?” Michael sounded confused and Sam could only imagine that he was looking at Sam’s napping form with skepticism.

“Yeah, your DaSa is making a baby, Mikey,” Dean explained. “That takes a lot of energy. Not only do all of his insides have to move around to make room for the baby, but all the fuel for making the baby has to come from DaSa too. Remember when we had that bonfire at Uncle Bobby’s?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Remember how you went around and picked up sticks that Uncle Bobby could use to start the fire?” Dean asked. 

“Uh-huh,” Sam could picture his son’s bangs flopping as he nodded his head. “It took a long time.”

“And you were tired after that, weren’t you?” Dean prodded. Michael must have nodded, because Dean continued. “Well, that’s what your DaSa is doing, only he’s doing it all day, every day, for nine whole months. You just can’t see it is all.”

“Wow,” Michael sounded impressed, even though he probably didn’t have a grasp on how long a period of time that was.

“Yeah, wow,” Dean replied. Sam could hear the smile in his voice. “So, your DaSa’s going to need to rest when he can and he’s going to have to eat more too.”

“Eat more?” Michael repeated in disbelief. “Can he?”

Dean snorted with laughter. “Yeah, he can, although, I know, DaSa eats an awful lot already.”

Sam decided that Dean was going to pay for that comment later.

“Is he going to get fat?” Michael asked. “Emma’s momma was pregnant and she was as big as the hippo we saw at the zoo.”

“Well, I hope you didn’t tell her that,” Dean replied and Sam could tell that his brother was trying not to laugh. “Everybody’s different, but yeah, your DaSa might get fat.” In a low voice that Sam figured Dean didn’t mean anyone to hear, let alone Sam, he added, “At least I hope he does.”

“That would be weird,” Michael stated.

Sam had to agree. He’d been chubby for a while as a pre-teen and those hadn’t exactly been happy memories. It was hard to be the new kid under any circumstances, but add another potential target like chubbiness and kids could be even more ruthless.

“Were you fat when you had me?” Michael asked and suddenly it was Sam’s turn to try not to laugh.

“At the end, yeah,” Dean admitted. His touch left Sam’s hair again and Dean’s lap shifted as he reached over to tickle the boy. “But most of it was you.”

“There he is,” a new voice entered the conversation, equally hushed. “Mikey, I thought you came in because you had to go to the bathroom?”

“Yeah, I do, Grandpa.”

“You better get cracking, then,” John instructed. “Little boys aren’t supposed to piddle on the floor any more than their dogs are.”

Sam had to stifle a chuckle. Hearing ferocious hunter John Winchester say ‘piddle’ instead of ‘piss’ was almost as funny as Dean admitting he’d been fat while pregnant.

“Sorry about that, son,” John apologized to Dean after the sound of Michael’s footsteps faded away. “I didn’t think he’d wander in here. Did he wake Sam up?”

“Nah, we’re good,” Dean reassured their dad. “Thanks for entertaining him for us. Sammy needed some down time.” 

“My pleasure, son, believe me,” John assured Dean. His voice got softer as he spoke, indicating that their dad was leaving the room too. “You just take care of your brother.”

After the sounds of John leaving faded completely away, Dean poked Sam, but gently. “Okay, you big faker, they’re both gone.”

Sam opened one eye. “How could you tell? Not even Michael knew.”

Dean snorted. “I know you better than anybody, Sammy, especially a toddler.”

“So I’m going to start eating everything in sight and you hope I get fat?” Sam challenged his brother. He broke the moment, though, by yawning hugely.

“You already eat everything in sight,” Dean pointed out, grinning. “And I think you’d look cute with a fat little baby belly.”

“Yeah, like you really liked having yours,” Sam put his hand over his still flat stomach. “I can’t wait, though.”

Dean leaned down and kissed him. “Me too neither.”

Sam answered that with a yawn. “Sorry.”

“Get some more rest, Sammy,” Dean coaxed him. “Between school and Mikey, you’re wiped.”

“And I’m busy cooking a baby,” Sam smiled at him. “Or building a fire. I got kind of confused there for a minute.”

“Hey, I was using language he’d understand,” Dean protested, but mildly. “And I don’t know why you’re so tired anyway. You’re already a girl, so moving your innards around for the kid shouldn’t be too much of a stretch.”

Sam suddenly thought of something and he looked up at his brother with narrowed eyes. “You didn’t act this tired when you were pregnant.” 

He remembered Dean being rundown, which was just one of the reasons that Sam had begun to consider that Dean might be pregnant in the first place. Rundown, though, was a far cry from the way that Sam could hardly keep his eyes open every time he sat down. If Dean had truly been that tired and Sam hadn’t noticed, he owed his brother an apology.

“Nah, it wasn’t this bad,” Dean scoffed. “You’re bigger, that’s why it’s affecting you more. You’ve got more insides to rearrange.”

Sam wasn’t sure that he believed Dean. Not that Dean would lie to him, but Dean had a tendency to understate how much he was hurting, physically as well as emotionally. Sam stared at him intently, but Dean’s gaze never wavered and finally Sam sighed. He had no way of knowing and, besides, if he had overlooked Dean’s exhaustion, it was years in the past and he couldn’t change it anyway.

“Go back to sleep, Sammy,” Dean started petting Sam’s hair again. “Dad’s got Mikey and I’m right here. We’re good.”

Yeah, they were good. Satisfied, Sam drifted off completely.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted May 21, 2009


	100. Dean's Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is three

Sam was a little startled when Dean grabbed his hand the minute he stepped out of the Impala. Michael was generally was the recipient of Dean’s public displays of affection, but Sam wasn’t going to complain. He smiled happily as his hand settled into Dean’s and he gladly let his older brother lead him towards the house.

The brothers were returning from a trip that had been relatively short, but was going to have big consequences for the Winchester family. Extremely good consequences. At the thought, Sam put his hand on his stomach. It was hard to believe that there was a baby in there. 

“Just wait until the morning sickness kicks in,” Dean commented out of the blue. “You’ll believe it then.”

Sam gaped at him. “How did you know what I was thinking? I thought Michael’s the one who reads emotions and I know you don’t have visions.”

Dean snorted. “I don’t need any gift to know what you’re thinking, Sammy. I know you better than anyone else, remember?” His smiled softened. “And I’ve been there, done that. It’s an amazing feeling — once you get over the shitting in your pants from being scared part.”

It wasn’t hard to resist the temptation to laugh; Sam remembered too well the fear that had come with the realization that Dean was pregnant. At least Sam’s was an informed choice. It was still a miracle, but they knew what was going on this time. Sam’s pregnancy would probably have a healthy dose of uncertainty, but nothing like what Dean had endured.

“Dean, I-. . . .” Sam stammered. He wanted to tell Dean that he admired how Dean had handled carrying Michael and the birth and that he wished it could have been different, but the words overwhelmed him, allowing Dean a chance to interrupt.

“Don’t, Sammy,” Dean butted in. Their eyes met for a moment and Sam was rocked by the intensity of his brother’s gaze. Then Dean looked away. “Geez, just because you’re knocked up now doesn’t mean you’re really a girl.”

Sam took the comment for what it was; Dean’s automatic defense for emotions that threatened to overwhelmed him. So, he didn’t make any retorts to the comment, nor did he protest when Dean’s hand came up the small of his back as his brother ushered him into the house.

Michael’s dog greeted them as they walked through the front door. She’d recognized them and, thanks to Bobby’s excellent training, hadn’t barked. Sam let Xena sniff his hand and give it quick lick. 

Dean got the same treatment and he ruffled her ears fondly. “You miss us, girl?” 

Although they were both happy enough to see the dog, she wasn’t the member of the family that the brothers had missed the most. The feeling was apparently mutual, because a small missile came barreling out of the direction of the kitchen.

“DeeDee!” Michael yelled as he ran to greet his fathers. “DaSa!”

“Hey there, champ,” Dean’s grin was wide as he caught the boy after Michael launched himself at him. “I think you’re glad to see us.”

“I missed you!” The three year-old declared. He wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck and squeezed tight. “And you brought Brother with you.”

The brothers exchanged glances over Michael’s head. There had been no question that Michael would need to be informed about his upcoming sibling. The debate had been when to tell him, but that had been taken out of their hands when Michael calmly announced at the breakfast table that he wished his fathers would go get his brother already. Sam and Dean had left the next weekend.

Michael wiggled in Dean’s arms until his older father put him down. Then Michael ran over to Sam to be picked up and gave him an equally enthusiastic hug. 

“Were you good for Grandpa?” Sam asked the little boy.

“Uh-huh,” Michael nodded his head vigorously. “Right, Grandpa?”

John had been staying with his grandson while they were gone and had come out of the kitchen when Michael ran out to greet them. He nodded solemnly at Michael’s question. “Good as gold, hard to believe he’s yours.”

Michael wiggled in Sam’s arms. “Down, DaSa.”

Sam jiggled his son gently. “Is that how you’re supposed to ask?”

His admonishment got him a big sigh. “Down, please, DaSa?”

“That’s better,” Sam complied, putting the boy on the floor.

Michael ran back to Dean, but instead of asking to be held, spoke very solemnly at Dean’s stomach. “Hi, I’m your big brother.”

Dean gave Sam a startled look and both of them choked back laughter. They didn’t have to correct their son, though. Michael’s smile almost immediately turned into a frown.

“Hey,” he glared at Dean’s stomach in accusation. “There’s no Brother in there.”

Sam watched as Dean’s lips twitched, but his brother managed to keep a serious expression his face for their son’s sake. “That’s because your brother isn’t in my tummy; he’s in DaSa’s.”

“But DaSa can’t have babies,” Michael protested. “That’s your job, DeeDee.”

John made a barking sound, as he tried to cover his laugher with a cough. Sam, on the other hand, bit his lip and managed to stifle his better.

“I had you,” Dean told the little boy. “It was DaSa’s turn this time. We’re sharing.”

“Nooooo!” Michael wrapped his little arms as far around Dean’s legs as he could. “DaSa can’t have Brother, you’re supposed to have Brother.” The rest of the child’s words were incomprehensible as he started crying.

The situation ceased being funny.

Dean immediately picked up their son and Michael buried his head in Dean’s neck. Sam crossed the short distance that separated them and started rubbing Michael’s back.

“Dad, did Michael have a nap today?” Sam asked.

John looked guilty. “No, I couldn’t get him to go down for one.”

“Great,” Dean muttered under his breath.

Michael was a good boy, but he was only three years old. Like most kids his age, he tired during the day. Unfortunately, also like most kids his age, Michael didn’t like to admit it and he’d taken to protesting naptime. Having endured how their normally good-natured little boy acted when he hadn’t had a nap, Sam and Dean had learned to say no to those pleading eyes and put him down for one anyway. Tough as nails hunter John Winchester, though, had turned out not to be made of such stern stuff and had apparently let his grandson talk him out of it.

Dean settled on the nearby couch and put Michael on his lap. Sam sat next to them, continuing to try and comfort Michael by rubbing his back. As he did, Sam thought back to their conversations with their son about the upcoming pregnancy. Now that he was thinking about it, Sam realized that they’d never specified which one of them would be pregnant, instead emphasizing how unusual it was for a man to be pregnant and the need for secrecy.

After letting Michael cry for a few minutes, Dean sat their son up and gently put his fingers under the boy’s chin, lifting his face so that Dean could look him in the eye. “Okay now, Mikey, what’s this all about?”

“You said that Brother was gonna come because of magic,” Michael scrubbed at his face, looking very much like the overtired toddler that he was.

“He is,” Dean replied.

“But if your special Winchester magic gift is having babies, then why is DaSa having Brother?” Michael demanded.

There was another huff of sound from the part of the room John was standing in. By the time Sam turned to glare at their father, however, there was a look of shining innocence on his face.

“We said it was magic,” Dean corrected his son, “but we didn’t say it was because of a special ability. There’s other kinds of magic, you know.”

Michael looked awed. “There is?”

“Yeah,” Sam chimed in. “Like Santa Clause or the Tooth Fairy.”

His comment caused Michael to screw up his face in confusion. “Santa Claus is bringing Brother?”

“No, big guy,” Dean finally let a chuckle slip. “Not that kind of magic either. It’s kind of like a wishing well. Last time, I wished for a little boy and got to have you. This time, your DaSa did it and he’s gonna have your brother.”

It sounded like an explanation simple enough for a child of Michael’s age. Sam expected it to work, but to both brothers’ dismay, Michael started to tear up again.

“But you gotta have a Winchester special gift,” Michael declared. “DaSa has special dreams an’ I can feel things. You gotta have one too, DeeDee.”

Dean exchanged a helpless look with Sam and Sam took a turn at answering.

“Grandpa doesn’t have a special gift,” Sam pointed out. “And he’s a Winchester.”

Michael’s face got an obstinate look that Sam recognized all too easily from looking in the mirror. “Grandpa does too have a Winchester gift!”

Dean and Sam both turned their heads towards their father.

“Dad, you been holding out on us?” Dean asked, one eyebrow raised archly.

John looked sheepish. “Well. . . .” 

He seemed strangely reluctant to explain, but Michael was the exact opposite. Bursting with excitement, he blurted out, “Grandpa’s farts don’t stink, that’s his Winchester gift.”

Sam was immediately transported to his own childhood and their dad making the same claim. To have John use it on their son was kind of cute and to see the look of embarrassment that was currently on his father’s face was absolutely priceless.

“Really?” Dean muttered. “I guess you haven’t been around Grandpa after he’s had enchiladas.”

“Grandpa’s farts don’t stink, DaSa has cool dreams and I can feel things,” Michael listed, counting off each one on a finger. “You have to have a special gift too, DeeDee, ‘cause you’re a Winchester too.”

Michael’s earnestness was almost heartbreaking. Sam watched as his brother gazed down into the little boy’s face, almost seeing the internal debate raging within him. Finally, Dean leaned his head down until his forehead was bumping against Michael’s.

“I do have a Winchester gift,” Dean whispered hoarsely. “I just didn’t want to let on, because it’s a secret.”

“I can keep a secret,” Michael whispered back. His tears had already dried up and he was all but bouncing with excitement in Dean’s lap. “Will you tell me?”

“I know you can and, no, I’m not gonna tell you, because I have to show you,” Dean assured him. “But you’ll need to sit back a bit because no one should be close to this.”

Michael eagerly climbed off of Dean’s lap and onto Sam’s. “Ready, DeeDee.”

With an expression that was probably meant to be solemn, but ended up looking rather pained, Dean took one hand and slid it inside of the loose shirt he was wearing. For a minute, Sam doubted his brother was going to do what it looked like he was going to do. 

And then Dean did exactly what it looked like he was going to do.

Dean bent his arm before raising and lowering it, making farting sounds in his armpit. Michael’s jaw dropped open with awe. John suddenly felt the need to leave the room and even Sam had to bury his face in Michael’s hair in order to keep from laughing.

“Wow, DeeDee,” Michael exclaimed. “Grandpa’s farts don’t smell and you can fart with your arm.” His face fell. “How come I don’t have a farting gift?”

Sam wasn’t sure how Dean managed to keep a straight face when he answered their son. “Maybe when you get older. Your DaSa used to have two gifts, maybe you will too.”

“Cool,” Michael chirped and then he yawned.

“And I think that’s enough excitement for one day,” Dean stated. He stood before picking Michael up. “Time for a nap.”

“But I’m a big boy,” Michael protested, twisting in Dean’s arm to look imploringly at Sam. “Right, DaSa?”

“Right,” Sam agreed. “But even big boys need naps sometime.”

“Awww. . . .” Michael began to whine.

“And that’s why you need a nap,” Dean was firm as he took a couple of steps down the hallway with Michael in his arms. “You too, Sammy.”

Sam was surprised. “Me?”

Dean grinned at him. “Like you said, even big boys need naps sometimes and pregnant big boys need ‘em even more.”

“Dean, I’ve been pregnant all of 24 hours, I don’t think I need a nap. . . .” Sam stated.

“Are you forgetting your promise already?” Despite his words, there was mischief in Dean’s eyes. “I seem to remember something about a vow to let me mother hen you as much as I wanted when it was your turn."

Damn him. Having this conversation in front of Michael pretty much cemented Sam’s capitulation — and Dean knew it.

“I know,” Sam tried to be as graceful as he could in defeat. “Okay, lead the way.”

“Can I nap with you?” Michael asked, rubbing his eyes.

Normally, Sam and Dean were pretty strict about Michael coming into their bed. Sharing with his fathers would be a treat for the little boy.

“Okay,” Dean answered, after glancing at Sam and getting a slight nod of agreement. “Just because it’s a special day, with your brother finally being in DaSa’s tummy.”

“Yeah!” Michael clapped his hands, but his excitement was punctuated by another yawn.

Dean lead the way to their bedroom. He put Michael down by the bed and had him take his shoes off. Sam followed suit. Before Michael could clamber up onto the mattress, however, Dean stopped him.

“I know you were confused about whose tummy your brother was in, but I think you owe DaSa an ‘I’m sorry,’” Dean told their son. “Throwing a hissy fit wasn’t a very nice thing to do.”

Michael’s lower lip came out, but he obediently walked the couple of steps over to Sam. “Sorry, DaSa.”

“Apology accepted,” Sam assured him. “I know you weren’t mad at me.” He ruffled the little boy’s hair. “Now, the last one in the bed is a rotten egg.”

Michael squealed and jumped on the bed, settling down in the middle. Sam followed, although slightly more slowly.

“You’re a rotten egg, DaSa!” Michael crowed.

“No he’s not,” Dean had joined them, settling in on the other side of Michael. “I guess I am.”

Sam leaned over Michael and made a show of sniffing Dean. “Peeyoo, you are a little ripe there, Dean. Too bad you don’t have Dad’s gift.”

Michael giggled. “Yeah, DeeDee — rotten eggs.”

“I don’t have to take this abuse,” Dean made as if to get off the bed.

“Stay, DeeDee, please?” Michael pleaded. “We’ll be nice, won’t we, DaSa?”

“Very nice,” Sam solemnly promised.

“Well, okay,” Dean capitulated and lay down. “Because if you’re mean to me again, I might just cry.”

Michael giggles became yawns. Within a few moments, the little boy was fast asleep. Sam propped himself up on one pillow and looked at their son fondly. “You know, once he reaches elementary school, he’s going to figure out that your ‘gift’ is a load of crap.”

“I know,” Dean’s grin showed he wasn’t worried at the prospect. He lay on his back with his hands behind his head. “By then, though, he’ll be a little older and should understand better about the gifts the two of you have.”

Looking at his brother’s profile, Sam was suddenly awash in emotions. “You do have a gift, you know,” he said softly. “For family. You held me and Dad together and now there’s Michael, all because of you.”

Dean blinked a couple of times before he turned to Sam. “Geez, Sam. Keep the estrogen over on your side of the bed, why don’t you? I’m trying to sleep here.”

Sam knew Dean as well as Dean knew him; he knew that his brother was touched. Family was, after all, everything to Dean. Sam laid back down, one hand on his stomach guarding that child that was to come, the other resting on the back of the child that had become the center of their lives.

Just before Sam drifted off, he felt Dean’s hand cover his as it lay on Michael’s back. He could have sworn that Dean was murmuring something about serving their dad enchiladas, but fell asleep before he could tell for sure.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> December 6, 2009


	101. Stinky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is 7, Danny is 3

“It stinks.”

Sam laughed softly and shifted Danny in his arms. The three year-old was pinching his nose shut with his fingers. “Yeah, it does.”

“I think it’s cool,” Michael commented. “Other flowers smell good; this one is different.”

“Different’s one word for it,” Dean added. “That is one big, smelly plant.”

St. Peter was a college town and, although Sam hated to admit it, there was more than one school that called it home. The university he taught at was one; Gustavus Adolphus was the other. Sam would argue to his dying breath that his school was superior, but GA had something that his college didn’t and, as much as it stuck in his craw to admit it, that something was, as Michael had just said, pretty cool.

A corpse flower.

Native to Indonesia, corpse flowers were notorious for their size, the fact they only bloomed every few years and for how rare they were. All were good reasons for being famous, but topping all of those was the distinctive odor the plants gave off during the 48 hours or so that they bloomed. The aptly named corpse flower smelled like a decaying body.

Someone had given a professor at GA corpse flower seeds and the plant, Perry, had been carefully nurtured for years. It was the first time since the Winchesters had moved to St. Peter that Perry had bloomed and they’d been astonished by the way the sleepy college town had been flooded with people that flocked to St. Peter to see it. Even Dean had been intrigued enough to want to check it out.

The lobby that Perry was located in was small enough that only five people were allowed inside at a time. The line went out the building and around the corner. Seeing it, Sam had almost suggested that they bail, but Dean had simply shrugged and moved towards the back.

It took almost an hour for their turn to go in. Luckily Michael and Danny played well together; it helped that Sam and Dean remembered lots of games from the hours they’d spent in the Impala during their own childhood. Finally, however, their patience paid off and it was their time to see Perry. Sam picked Danny up and Dean took Michael by the hand as they, and the man behind them, were ushered into the lobby to see the corpse flower.

The smell hit them first and, as usual, Danny hadn’t been shy about voicing his opinion.

“It looks like Audrey,” Dean murmured. “Feed me, Seymour.”

Sam smiled, but the movie reference completely went over Michael’s head. The little boy looked at the placard in front of the plant and frowned. “The sign says its name is P-e-r-r-y. Does that spell Audrey?”

“No, it doesn’t,” Dean told him. “It spells Perry.“ He looked at the placard too and read it quickly. “It’s short for Hyperion. I still think Audrey would have been a better name. I think we need to expand your movie experience, son.”

“Nix that,” Sam murmured. “Unless you never want him to go to a dentist again in his life.”

Dean’s lips pursed as he thought about it. 

“Audrey’s a girl name,” Michael pointed out, saving Dean from having to backtrack on his movie comment. “Perry’s a boy plant.”

“Actually, a corpse flower is both,” Sam pointed out. “Some plants are. And it’s named Hyperion because that’s the name of a titan and titans are huge.“ He looked at the plant, which was taller than he was. “So is Perry.”

“It stinks,” Danny repeated, still holding his nose closed. “Smells like Grandpa when he farts.”

John had tried the same trick with Danny that he had with Michael, but with less success. Danny hadn’t believed for a minute that his grandfather’s gas didn’t smell, although Sam wasn’t sure if that was because their youngest had a keener nose or was simply less gullible.

Sam darted a quick look at the man who’d been admitted with them, but he was busy snapping pictures. Not only was his focus totally on the plant, but he also was wearing ear-bud style headphones and was totally oblivious to the Winchesters’ conversation.

“No,” Michael disagreed, his eyes alight with mischief. “I think it smells like DeeDee’s sweat socks.”

Danny giggled and covered his mouth. 

“Think that’s funny, do you?” Dean asked, reaching over and poking the little boy gently in the stomach, making him giggle harder. “I, for one, happen to think it smells like the time that DaSa burned the tuna casserole.”

“Hey,” Sam protested, but mildly. That particular incident had stunk up the house for days. He put Danny down and shooed both kids closer towards the plant. “Go stand next to Perry and I’ll take your picture.”

Both boys did as they were asked and Sam let them do some funny poses, with their noses pinched shut. He and Dean took turns too, Dean claiming that having Sam’s picture next to the corpse flower was the only way to get the true scale of the thing.

“It doesn’t even look like it’s from this planet,” Sam was in awe of the huge, smelly plant. 

“It does look one of those alien pods,” Dean commented. “You suppose it’s growing a couple of stinky little boys in there?”

Neither boy seemed disturbed by the thought. Michael just tilted his head to the side, clearly deep in thought.

“What is it, Mikey?” Dean asked.

“Why does it stink, DeeDee?” Michael asked. “It’s cool, but there’s gotta be a reason why.”

Sam stifled a smile. Michael had a logical bent that didn’t seem to be something he’d inherited from either of his fathers. His curiosity, though, was something that both Sam and Dean liked to encourage and Sam was inordinately proud of their eldest’s fondness for learning.

Dean knelt next to another placard. “Says here that it wants to attract flies and other bugs.”

“Does it eat them?” Danny bounced as he asked.

“It needs them to spread the pollen,” Sam explained. “So it can make other corpse plants.”

“Corpse plant babies?” Michael wrinkled his nose in distaste. “All that stink for babies?”

Dean ruffled Michael’s hair. “Babies are smelly, no matter what kind species. They make up for it in other ways, though.”

“Yeah,” Michael nodded his head. “I guess Danny turned out okay and he was plenty smelly at first.”

“Hey!” Danny protested. “Was not!”

Michael glared at him. “Was to!”

Dean stepped in before the argument could progress. “Okay, we’re done. Hope you got enough pictures, Sammy, because my nose has had enough.”

“Nope, I’m good to go,” Sam took Danny by the hand while Dean herded Michael towards the door. It was fortunate they were ready to go, because just as they were preparing to leave, a university staff member came in to tell them it was time to let the next group in.

Sam and his family headed back outside, all of them taking deep breaths of the fresh, clean air. It was surprising that they’d been able to ignore the smell enough to hold a conversation, but it was only when they were away from the corpse flower that Sam realized how very noxious it had been. The man who’d been let in the same time of them simply headed back to the end of the line. Either he was a very dedicated botanist or a glutton for punishment.

There was a park with playground equipment pretty close to the building that housed the corpse flower. When the boys got a good look at it, they immediately wanted to play.

“Please,” Michael asked, his eyes doing their best imitation of Sam’s puppy dog gaze. “We were good in line, you said so.”

“Yeah,” Danny bounced in place. “Please?”

Dean looked quickly at Sam, who nodded. “Sure, go ahead. Knock yourself out.” 

The boys whooped and started running towards the playground equipment. Michael’s longer legs soon had him outpacing his baby brother, but Danny didn’t give up, his chubby little legs pumping as he strove to catch up.

Sam and Dean followed more slowly. Dean was unusually quiet, but it didn’t have the feeling of a sad pensiveness. Instead, Sam got the impression that his older brother was contemplating something. Sam took Dean’s hand in his own and the act brought Dean’s focus from his thoughts to his husband.

“Sorry, Sammy,” Dean’s smile was sheepish. “I guess my head was somewhere else.”

They reached a bench that overlooked the playground and sat down. The two of them spent a few moments watching their kids play before Sam made any response. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Dean shrugged. “They didn’t recognize the smell.”

Sam frowned, not quite following his brother’s line of thought. “Who didn’t recognize what?”

“That flower smelled pretty damn authentic,” Dean explained, nodding towards their kids. “And Mikey and Danny didn’t recognize it. That means they don’t know what a dead body smells like.”

That easy, Sam knew why Dean had turned to introspection. By the time Dean was Michael’s age, he’d been all too familiar with the smell of death. Sammy’d had a bit longer to be a child, mostly because of the way that Dean protected him. That their kids were being raised in a way that the smell of a dead body was the last thing they’d be familiar with was a major source of pride for both Winchesters.

“That’s a good thing,” Sam said firmly.

Dean nodded. “It’s a damn good thing.” 

There was a note of contentment in Dean’s voice that made Sam really, really happy. They watched the boys play for several minutes and then Dean started chuckling.

“What?” Sam asked. The boys were having fun, but not doing anything out of the norm.

“It’s also a good thing that we haven’t started teaching them Latin yet,” Dean stated. When Sam just looked at him blankly, Dean’s grin turned into a smirk. “Didn’t you notice that sign that said what the scientific name was for a corpse flower? Amorphophallus titanum.”

Sam’s Latin was a little rusty, but he figured it out pretty quickly. When he did, he started to laugh and soon both brothers were laughing loudly enough that their boys ran over to the bench to find out what was so funny.

But neither father was willing to explain it to them.

~the end~

Amorphos = without form, misshapen  
phallos = penis  
titanum = giant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted August 1, 2010


	102. Trick or Treat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is pregnant

“Here come some more of the little bastards.”

Sam stifled a sigh and sent off a silent prayer for patience. The pregnancy hormones were making Dean even more possessive than he normally was.

“Jacked up little beggars is what they are,” Dean continued to complain. Sam decided he better say something before his brother started reaching for the shotgun.

“Dean, it’s Halloween,” Sam pointed out for the third time. “Children are supposed to go around asking for candy.”

“Yeah, right, like Old Hallow’s Eve is the most wholesome night of the year to send your kids out after dark,” Dean countered. He had the candy bowl clutched in his hands. “Not to mention, sugaring up a whole neighborhood of munchkins and giving them permission to threaten you if you don’t given them treats. The whole thing is just screwy if you ask me.”

Sam didn’t really listen to the words; he heard the faint tone of jealousy underneath. Dean was good at hiding his feelings, but Sam was better at digging them out. 

“Sounds kind of nice if you ask me,” Sam shrugged. By the time he was an adult, Sam had developed the Winchester family dislike of the holiday, but as a kid he’d always been envious at the children allowed to go trick or treating. “Free candy, a chance to wear funny outfits, wandering around the neighborhood . . . .”

Dean snorted. “Sam, have you ever taken a good look at your everyday clothes? They are funny.”

Long used to jibes about his wardrobe, Sam ignored the comment. “Besides, in a few years our son will be old enough to go trick or treating.” He saw Dean stiffen, as though the thought hadn’t occurred to him before. Maybe it hadn't. “Do you really want the neighbors calling him a beggar and a bastard, even if it’s not to his face?”

From Dean’s expression, Sam knew exactly what his brother’s answer would have been. Just at that moment, however, the doorbell rang. Giggles could be heard from the other side; the children that Dean had observed approaching their apartment building had arrived.

Dean grabbed the bowl of candy and pointed a finger accusingly at Sam. “You. Suck.”

Since Dean’s pregnancy made him look chubby rather than pregnant, Sam had insisted that they take turns answering the door. So far, Dean had been less than enthusiastic, although to be fair, they didn’t have many kids come by. Their apartment building was small and not as accessible as a house.

“Trick or treat!” The children called out as Dean opened the door.

Before, Dean had all but glowered at the children who’d shown up, but Sam’s comments had evidently changed his mind on the subject. Personally, Sam thought the smile Dean used on the current batch of kids was scarier than the glare had been, but then he knew how patently false it was.

“Here you go, princess,” Dean said as he dropped candy into the first bag. For once his use of the ‘p’ word wasn’t sarcastic; the little girl really was dressed as a princess.

“Thank you,” she responded in a high, piping voice. From Sam’s seat on the couch, he could see that the girl actually made a curtsey.

“Okay, big dawg, your turn,” the next child was younger and dressed as a puppy. Dean looked as surprised as Sam when the little boy held up a second bag.

“An’ one for my brover, he’th thick and couldn’t come,” the child lisped.

Dean’s eyebrows went up, but he complied. “Okay, I’ll give you two. One in case your brother really is sick and the other one in case he’s not, just for thinking a way to scam more candy.”

There was a third child in the group, but he or she was covered in a sheet and it was impossible to tell if it was a little girl or a little boy. A face was drawn on with a black marker and Dean made a show of flinching back. “Wow, you’re a scary ghost, dude.”

Sam choked with laughter. Over the years, he’d seen Dean face down, dozens, if not hundreds of real ghosts, each more bloody than the last. To see him pretend to be spooked by a little kid in an old sheet was a hoot. Sam would be tempted to never let Dean live it down, except it was too endearing to make fun of. This was the Dean he was eager to raise a child with, the one he was hoping Dean would show more of once their son was born.

Some of his feeling must have been in his face, because when Dean came back to the couch he glared at Sam. “Geez, Sam, I thought I was the one supposed to be hormonal.”

Sam, wisely, wasn’t direct in his reply. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Dean shrugged, but Sam could tell that interacting with the kids had charmed away a lot of Dean’s bad mood. “It was all right. You see that puppy punk me out of extra candy?” Dean shook his head as though in dismay, but the admiration he had for the boy was clear. “That kid’s gonna go places.”

“Yeah, either prison or politics,” Sam joked. 

Dean grinned. “Like there’s a difference?”

The doorbell rang again and, this time, it was Sam’s turn. It was a couple of older kids, teenagers really, dressed as bank robbers. Sam was tempted to comment that they were beyond the trick or treating phase, but figured it wasn’t worth it. He simply gave them each a piece of candy and they were on their way.

“What happened to being nice to the little children knocking on our door for treats?” Dean asked. He didn’t look upset; he looked like he was trying not to smile.

“Those weren’t little kids,” Sam retorted. “Did you notice how scruffy their faces were? On one of them I think it was just black powder that was supposed to look like beard stubble, but I think the other one really did need to shave.”

Dean chuckled, but didn’t poke at Sam anymore. Having those two groups come by so close together was the exception, they only got two more before 8 pm. At that time, Sam closed the curtains and set the deadlock on the door.

“We done?” Dean asked, using a hopeful look that he must have learned from the child in the puppy costume.

“We’re done,” Sam stated firmly. “It’s late enough that all the little kids will already be at home.”

“Man, if we’d only shut down a little sooner,” Dean looked mournfully at the bowl, empty but for one lone candy bar.

“Too much chocolate’s not good for the baby,” Sam stated primly. He couldn’t keep a straight face, though, when Dean looked at him in dismay that was comic in its intensity.

“Shut your pie hole, Sam,” Dean’s eyes narrowed as his mood abruptly shifted from mournful to angry. “Is that why you insisted that we give all the candy away? Because I’d eat too much and hurt the baby?”

“No, absolutely not,” Sam's smile slipped away; he knew he was on thin ice. He’d quickly learned not to joke about certain subjects and Dean’s care for their unborn son was right at the top of the list. “That’s not it at all.”

Rather than trying to reassure Dean more verbally, Sam went to the kitchen, his long legs getting him there in rapid time. He opened up the cabinet above the fridge, the one that Dean could reach, but not easily. Sam grabbed the two bags of candy stashed there and turned around with a flourish to show them to his brother.

“You didn’t actually think I’d give it all away, did you?” Sam asked. “I saved the best stuff for you.”

Dean’s expression softened for a moment, but then he gave Sam another look that was almost a glare. “And I suppose you’re going to dole it out to me a piece at a time because I can’t be trusted with it?”

In truth, Sam was tempted, but not for the reason that Dean obviously thought. The idea of having his brother at his beck and call for a candy reward was heady. Sam, however, wasn’t that stupid. A non-pregnant Dean might think being a candy slave was fun, but a pregnant Dean was far more likely to be offended.

“Nope, it’s all yours,” Sam brought the candy over to Dean. While his brother held the bowl, Sam opened first one bag and then the other before dumping them both in. “There you go.”

Dean looked down at the bowl, his finger trace around the rim. “Thanks, Sammy.”

“Hey, you’re having our baby, taking care of you is the least I can do,” Sam replied.

“Sorry for being such a prick about it,” Dean looked up as he apologized. “And don’t argue that I wasn’t, because I was.”

“Okay, maybe you were being a prick,” Sam held his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. “Just a little bit.”

Dean rolled his eyes and smacked Sam on the shoulder. “Dude, what have I told you about using ‘little’ and ‘prick’ in the same sentence - especially when it comes to me? Totally out of line.”

“Sorry,” Sam said, but he wasn’t sorry at all. In fact, he was grinning like a fool.

Dean harrumphed and put the bowl down, snatching one miniature bag of M&Ms. He didn’t get off the couch with quite his usual grace, but it was close. Once he did, he grabbed Sam by the shirt collar and pulled him towards the hallway.

“Hey, aren’t you going to have any more candy than that?” Sam asked. He wasn’t exactly protesting, since they were clearly headed for the bedroom, but after all the complaining Dean had been doing, he was surprised. 

After stopping abruptly, Dean turned. Sam managed to fumble to a halt without knocking Dean over, but it was a close call. As it was, they were literally nose to nose.

“What I plan on doing,” Dean said in a quiet, intense voice. “Is going bobbing for apples.” He wiggled his eyebrows before leaning up and gently biting Sam’s Adam’s apple. His other hand grabbed Sam's crotch and squeezed briefly before letting go.

“That’s g-good,” Sam stuttered. “Real good.”

“And after that,” Dean continued, holding up the M&Ms, “I’m gonna see if these little babies really don’t melt. . . although I won’t be using my hand for the test.”

Sam shivered in anticipation as Dean turned and headed them towards the bedroom. They’d missed a lot of Halloweens as a kid, but it looked like Dean was going to help them both make up for lost time.

Halloween was fast-moving up the list of Winchester family favorites, at least as far as Sam was concerned.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted September 29, 2010


	103. Giving Thanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is six, Danny is two.

“Look at the turkey I made, Grandpa!”

Dean glanced over to where his oldest son was showing his father an art project from school. Mikey had let his grandfather get his coat off, but that was all he had the patience for before dragging John over to the fridge where said turkey was proudly displayed.

“That’s a mighty fine turkey,” John duly admired the artwork. “I can almost hear it gobble.”

Mikey giggled. “You know what? It’s my hand. I traced my hand and colored it and it looks just like a turkey.”

John stood and ruffled his grandson’s hair. “That it does, Mikey, that it does.”

The Winchester household was in full organized chaos mode. It was their first big holiday since moving to Minnesota and, even though the guest list was small, the addition of two small boys and two large dogs complicated matters. The dogs, at least, could be put outside, since it wasn’t very cold out yet.

“Hey, all monkeys and monkeys’ grandpas need to go wash up, chow’s about done,” Dean instructed them. “Where’s Danny?”

“He’s with Uncle Bobby,” Mikey helpfully informed him. “I think they were going to hunt for ghosts in the basement.”

Dean grinned. At two, Danny was obsessed with ghosts. It had nothing to do with his fathers’ former occupation and everything to do with his love for Scooby Doo. With the imperiousness that toddlers and cats shared, Bobby had been handed a flashlight by his honorary nephew when he walked in an hour ago and led away for a ghost hunt. Dean was impressed that it had gone on so long; Danny’s attention span was usually a lot shorter.

“Danny, Bobby!” Dean yelled from the top of the stairway that led down to the basement. “It’s almost time to eat.”

The table was set and Liddy had come a little earlier than her husband to help with the food. Sam and Dean both could cook, but they appreciated the moral support when it came to something like a holiday feast. Between the three of them, they got all of the dishes to the table by the time John, Bobby and the boys were ready to sit down.

“Yum!” Danny giggled and reached for the basket of warm rolls that were placed near his plate.

“Not so fast there, Danny,” Sam admonished their youngest. “We need to say grace first.”

There was an awkward silence among the adults, not all of whom could be described as religious. Finally, Dean cleared his throat. “Liddy, could you do us the honor?”

Liddy looked surprised, but also flattered. She took John’s hand with her right and Bobby’s with her left. The rest of the group followed suit.

“Our heavenly Father,” Liddy’s voice was soft and reverent. “We thank you for our health and happiness, for the bounty laid before us, and the opportunity to be together. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

Sam squeezed Dean’s hand before letting go and Dean shot him a fond glance, halfway expecting to see tears in Sam’s eyes. He’d underestimated this brother, though, because Sam wasn’t even close to weeping. His eyes shone with joy.

For a few minutes, there were just the sounds of serving dishes being passed around the table, with quiet murmurs of appreciation accompanying them. Those sounds were replaced by compliments on the food, the exception being Danny’s refusal to eat any turkey.

“It’s just like chicken,” Dean cajoled him, waving a turkey leg in front of Danny’s face.

Danny shook his head emphatically. “No. Icky.”

“Okay, your loss,” Dean shrugged and took a big bite out of the turkey leg. He wasn’t terribly concerned about Danny not liking it; Mikey hadn’t at his age either. “Mmm. . . .good.”

“Mine!” Danny reached out, his little fingers opening and closing as he grabbed for the food that he’d turned his nose up at a minute ago. Apparently seeing his father enjoying it so much had changed his mind.

Dean had a feeling that his son’s change of heart would last for exactly one bite. He held up the leg for Danny and the little boy leaned over and took a big mouthful. Almost immediately his face screwed up and he let the turkey meat drop out of his mouth. “Icky, DeeDee.”

“You know what’s icky, dude, is spitting things out,” Dean complained. He quickly grabbed a napkin from the pile they kept by Danny and wiped it up.

“Just be thankful he didn’t go projectile with it,” John said. His eyes were twinkling. “Sam used to do that.”

Mikey frowned. “What’s pro-jeckle mean?”

John looked down at his grandson. “It means that when your dad spit out his food when he was Danny’s age, he got it airborne. I bet he could have spit the turkey all the way across the table.”

Watching his son’s eyes get big, and then contemplative, Dean started to say something. Sam, however, beat him to it. “No, Michael. Don’t even think about it.”

“Aw,” Mikey deflated. “Not even a little?”

“No, not even a little,” Sam glared at his father, who just smiled innocently back at him, as if he hadn‘t just planted a potentially disastrous idea into his grandson‘s mind. “If you really want to try it, you can go out back after dinner with the leftovers and try spitting them at your grandfather.”

John stopped smiling.

Bobby, on the other hand, cackled. “I’d pay good money to see that.” 

Dean started to laugh, but quickly changed it into a cough. Sam and their father got along much better these days, but childrearing could still be an occasional hotspot for the two. Since Sam had spent more time on the cooking than Dean had, Dean made sure that he sat next to Danny and Mikey next to John. Sam at least deserved to eat a holiday meal in relative peace.

“At school, we got to go around the room and say what we were thankful for,” Mikey shrugged off the disappointment of being forbidden to spit food across the table pretty quickly. “An’ we each had to use a different letter of the alphabet.”

Liddy jumped on the change of subject. “That sounds like fun.”

“Can we do that?” Mikey asked, eyeing his younger father warily, since Sam had just been the spoilsport on the food spitting.

“Absolutely,” Sam smiled at him. “And since it was your idea, I think you should go first. What are you thankful for that starts with A?”

Mikey frowned while he thought and then he finally made up his mind. “Antelopes. I’m thankful for antelopes.”

“Antelopes?” Sam’s question echoed Dean’s confusion. “Why antelopes?”

“Because that’s what the lions eat and I really like lions,” Mikey replied.

Dean snorted and murmured just loudly enough for Sam to hear. “I’d hate to be an antelope.”

John was next and Dean knew that his father hated the chick flick stuff even more than Dean did. John never would have gone for something like this when Sam and Dean were little. From the way he was nervously handling his bottle of beer, he clearly was uncomfortable. When his dad looked up, Dean was worried that he would say ‘beer.’ While a perfectly acceptable object for gratitude, as far as Dean was concerned, it maybe wasn’t the best choice in front of an impressionable six year-old. Sam evidently felt the same way because he cleared his throat loudly.

Their dad grinned broadly. “Boys. I’m grateful for boys.”

Liddy leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. When she pulled back, she’d left a lipstick mark, which she hastily wiped away. “I’m grateful for boys too, even the big ones.”

“But your letter is C, Miss Liddy,” Mikey corrected her. 

“So it is,” she smiled brightly at him. “And that’s a very good one to have. I’m thankful for Christmas.”

Danny perked up at that. “Santa!”

“You got it, bud,” Dean poked him gently in the stomach. “Santa comes at Christmas.”

“I suppose I’m next,” Bobby said gruffly. “And I got D. Now, what or who could I be thankful for that starts with D?” He rubbed his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “I know it’s not Dean, he’s more trouble than he’s worth, but how about. . . Danny?”

Mikey giggled. “Or DeeDee or DaSa, those are all D words.” His face clouded up. “Hey, how come everyone’s a D but me?”

Sensing a potential meltdown, Dean was quick to respond. “Don’t forget, your middle name is David. You’re a secret, stealth D. Like a ninja.”

“A ninja?” Mikey’s eyes got wide. He loved ninja stuff. “Cool.”

“That means I’m an E,” Sam commented. 

“There’s egghead,” Dean offered helpfully and then shrugged. “But I guess you are one and it’d be wrong to be thankful for yourself.”

“Thanks,” Sam smirked. “I was thinking more along the lines of an elephant.”

John snorted. “Elephants?”

Sam squirmed, looking sheepish but defiant. “They’ve got really long noses and big floppy ears. I think they’re cute.”

“O-o-okay,” Dean gave him a look that showed just what kind of a dork he thought his brother was. “I guess I need to think of something I’m thankful for that starts with F.”

“Farts!” Mikey called out, giggling.

Dean shared a grin with him. In a household of men, especially since two of them were mini-type men, anything having to do with farts was the epitome of humor.

“We don’t talk about farts at the dinner table,” Sam squashed the topic firmly. From the look he gave Dean, he meant the warning as much for him as he did Mikey.

“I can think of another four-lettered word that starts with F,” Dean murmured. “It’s even less appropriate.”

“Try it and you won’t experience that word as a verb until next year,” Sam whispered, using a smile deep enough to bring out his dimples. He knew that Dean was teasing. There was no way Dean would say that in front of Liddy, let alone their boys.

“The thing that starts with F that I’m thankful for is family,” Dean said to the table at large. The adults nodded, knowing just how true that statement was.

“Danny’s next,” Mikey piped up, not being as sentimental as the rest of them. “He’s too little, though.”

“Okay,” Dean agreed. “Why don’t you pick one for him?”

Mikey studied his younger brother carefully before choosing. “I think Danny’s thankful for green. That’s the color of his favorite blanket.”

“Good choice,” Sam praised him. “You sure do know your little brother.”

They went around the table several more times as the meal progressed. Some of the choices were funny, like hearing Bobby getting the letter K and saying that he was thankful for kisses. The grizzled hunter turned beet red when Liddy gave him one on the cheek, while John looked on with a fake glare. Some were more serious, like Dean saying he was thankful for Mikey or Sam saying he was thankful for love. By the time the thankful game was over, so was the meal and the time had passed incredibly quickly.

“Pie now or later?” Sam asked as he stood and started gathering up dishes.

“How about pie now and later?” Dean asked with a grin.

Liddy patted her stomach. “How can you possibly eat anything else right now, Dean? That was a magnificent meal.“

Bobb agreed. “I feel like I’m going to pop a button.”

Dean grinned at them. “There’s always room for pie.” 

The others helped them clear the table off, although Sam and Dean drew the line at having their guests scrape dishes or the like. Dean did indeed have a piece of pie, pumpkin, but he shared it with his sons. It was no sacrifice; the boys mainly just wanted the whipped cream he sprayed on it. When Sam’s back was turned, Dean squirted just a little on each boy’s tongue, then a bigger glop in his own. Both of the kids giggled.

“I saw that,” Sam stated, although he still hadn’t turned around. 

Dean got up from the chair he’d been using and brought the can of spray cream over to Sam. “Don’t worry, Sammy, I saved some for you.”

Sam turned around and opened his mouth so that Dean could squirt some whip cream in. Dean barely gave him time to swallow before he was grabbed him for a deep kiss.

“Ick, there they go again,” Mikey’s voice was full of suffering. “Come on, Danny, let’s go look at the toy catalogs.”

“Toys!” Danny jumped and down. Dean was glad the toddler hadn’t eaten that much Thanksgiving dinner, otherwise all that bouncing around might cause his lunch to make a reappearance.

Mikey hung back for a moment after Danny took off for the other room. “I’m not kissing nobody, ever,” he declared before he followed his brother.

Sam chuckled. “You suppose we can hold him to that? I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready for either of our boys to kiss anyone.”

“They’re Winchesters, there’ll be kissing in their future, that’s a sure thing,” Dean claimed, although he had a feeling he’d be the same as Sam - not ever ready to see their kids in a romantic relationship. 

“How about our future?” Sam asked, teasing.

Dean slipped his fingers through Sam’s belt loops and tugged him closer. “Oh, I think there’s some kissing in our future too.”

They kissed again, taking their time since they were alone for the moment. When they broke apart, Dean bumped his forehead against his brother’s. “We’ve got a house full of company, Sammy.”

“I know,” Sam sighed, then smiled. “But they have to leave some time.”

“True.” There was a burst of laughter from the living room and the brothers exchanged a sheepish look. As much as they craved time alone, they also didn’t want to miss out on family time. They’d had to wait long enough to have it.

“You were right,” Sam said softly. “Family’s an important something to be thankful for.”

“Yeah, right now, I’m thankful for a dishwasher,” Dean quipped. He let Sam go and slapped him on the hip. “Get your ass in gear, Sammy. We’ve got a kitchen to clean.”

Sam laughed, a happy sound, and went back to the sink. Dean watched him for a moment, the jingle of his children’s laughter coming again from the other room. He bit his lip, thinking furiously.

Safe in the knowledge that he had a moment to be unobserved, Dean lifted his eyes heavenward and softly whispered, “thank you.”

And then Dean went back to helping his brother clean up the kitchen, cherishing every mundane moment.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted December 15, 2010


	104. Timing is Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is three.

Dean knew something was wrong the second his son came back from his play date with the Hammond family. The Hammonds had taken Mikey along with their kids to the movies and when they’d brought him home, Mikey had tromped in without stopping to acknowledge the father who’d opened the door. Sam was stuck chatting with Debbie Hammond, who’d walked the little boy up to the house. Seated on the couch in the living room, Dean could see the worried expression on his brother’s face. He started to get up to investigate, but Mikey was making a beeline for him.

Without saying anything, Mikey went straight to Dean and clambered up into his lap. Dean’s arms automatically went around the three year-old. “What’s the matter, buddy?”

Mikey shook his head and snuggled closer. To Dean’s concern, the little boy stuck his thumb in his mouth. That was not a good sign.

Debbie had noticed the short exchange. “I was just telling Sam that Michael didn’t want any popcorn. I thought that was odd.”

It was downright strange; Mikey was normally a popcorn eating machine. Dean felt his son’s forehead and, sure enough, Mikey felt warm. “I think you’ve got a fever, big guy.”

“Do-wan’ever,” Mikey whined, his words garbled because he hadn’t taken his thumb out of his mouth.

“Sorry, kiddo, I know it’s not any fun,” Dean rubbed Mikey’s back as he held his son.

“He was fine this morning,” Sam was wearing his worry face. “We never would have let him go if we thought he was coming down with something.”

Debbie shrugged off his comments. “Little kids get fevers at the drop of a hat. I bet he’ll be fine by morning.” The sound of a horn could be heard from the driveway. “That’s Bill, he wants to get home before the Sunday football game starts. I hope Michael feels better.” 

“Thanks, Debbie,” Sam smiled at her as she walked out the door. “We appreciate you taking him this afternoon.”

“It was our pleasure,” Debbie assured him. “Becca and Allen love doing stuff with Michael. Bye, guys.”

“Bye,” Dean waved at her from the couch, but Mikey only laid his head on his father’s shoulder. 

After their visitor was gone, Sam came over and squatted in front of the couch. “Does your tummy hurt, Michael?”

Mikey shook his head, but didn’t lift it or remove his thumb from his mouth. 

“How about your ear? Throat?” Mikey shook his head with each question and after that, Sam looked at Dean, who shrugged.

“Debbie’s right, little kids get fevers,” Dean stated, trying to assuage both his and his brother’s concern. “He’ll be fine.”

“I suppose.” Sam didn’t look any more convinced that Dean did.

The Winchester brothers kept a weather eye on their son throughout the rest of the afternoon and evening. Mikey was uncharacteristically quiet, preferring to lay on the couch with Dean and watch TV rather than playing with either his toys or his dog, Xena. The latter was as unhappy with the situation as Dean was, whining softly as she lay next to the couch after being rejected for a game of tug-o-war.

“I know, girl,” Dean said softly as he reached down to pet the dog. “He’ll be up and chasing you like crazy before you know it.”

Dinner that night was Mikey’s favorite, hamburgers, but the little boy hardly touched his food, just pushing it around. Sam and Dean had never forced their son to clean his plate, although they usually insisted that he eat a minimal amount. Knowing that he wasn’t feeling well, though, they gave him a break and didn’t insist that he eat more.

“No dessert,” Dean informed the boy as he removed the remnants of the meal. There wasn’t any protest, which was further evidence that Mikey wasn’t his usual self. “Why don’t you go into the living room? Scooby Doo should be on right about now.”

At first both brothers had been vaguely appalled that their son loved a cartoon about ghost hunting, but had since come to see the humor in the situation.

“Don’t want Scooby Doo,” Mikey pouted, complete with protruding lower lip.

Over his head, his fathers exchanged a worried glance. Mikey wasn’t usually a whiner.

“Okay,” Dean made an effort to keep his tone affable. “Then I guess it’s a bath and then bed.”

“No bed!” Mikey protested obstinately. “Want Scooby.”

Dean couldn’t help himself; the abrupt change in his normally good-natured little boy was too extreme. “Christo.”

“Dean!” Sam, predictably, was not happy with him.

“No wan’ Christo either,” Mikey’s pout intensified, but otherwise he was unchanged. Thankfully, the import of the word his father had used went right over his head. “Want Scooby.”

“You can watch Scooby Doo,” Sam replied, “but I want you on the couch and not close to the TV screen.”

Once the child had safely left the room, Sam rounded on his brother. “Really, Dean, Christo?”

Dean shrugged. “Come on, like you weren’t expecting his head to start turning around, the way he was behaving? Mikey doesn’t act like that.”

Sam lifted his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Michael’s been pretty healthy up until now, we just don’t know how he acts when he’s not feeling well.” He smiled slightly. “Besides, you’re not all rainbows and sunshine when you’re sick.”

“What does that have to do with it?” Dean huffed. 

“I’m just saying that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Dean,” Sam teased. “Not far at all.”

The rest of the evening was pretty uneventful. The adults cleaned up after dinner and shortly after that, Mikey got his bath and then bed, whether he liked it or not. Dean watched from the doorway as his brother read Mikey a book. The kid was out like a light before the story was even halfway done.

“I hate this,” Sam said softly as he came out of Mikey’s room. “Obviously he’s not feeling well, but still isn’t old enough to tell us what’s the matter.”

“Something tells me,” Dean warned, “that we’re going to find out by the end of the night.”

Sam was the one with visions, but Dean’s words proved prophetic. They hadn‘t been in bed long when the brothers were awakened by the sound of their son crying. Their reflexes were still almost hunter-fast; both were up and halfway down the hall within moments.

When Dean turned on the light, they could see that Mikey was sitting up on his bed and he was covered with vomit. The little boy was crying and both fathers moved towards him. Sam had the advantage, with his freakishly long legs. He picked the three year-old up, sticky mess and all.

“Does your tummy hurt?” Sam asked the little boy, rubbing comforting circles on his back.

Mikey nodded, but didn’t answer. The thumb of one hand was in his mouth, while the fingers of the other twirled the hair in the back of his head. Xena, who slept in Mikey’s room, paced from one Winchester to another, whuffling softly as though begging them to help the little boy.

“Hey, buddy,” Dean walked over to the other two. “Do you feel like you’re going to be sick again?”

There was no need for Mikey to nod yes or no. Instead, he simply vomited again. Unfortunately for Dean, it went out instead of down. Sam, who was holding Mikey, didn’t get a drop on him. Dean, who wasn’t even touching the little boy, got it all down his shirt.

Before he could react, Mikey started crying harder and Dean couldn’t find it in him to be angry. “It’s okay, buddy. It’s okay.”

Sam, wisely, started heading towards the bathroom. “I’ll get him cleaned up.”

Dean had gone to bed in a t-shirt and sleep pants. He plucked at the fabric of his top, which clung to him in a smelly mess. “I’ll clean up everything else.”

His history as a hunter stood Dean in good stead as he got to work; he’d seen a lot of gross stuff in his day and, yes, been covered in it too. Didn’t mean that it was pleasant, but he could the job done with a minimal amount of gagging.

“How can so much puke come out of one little kid?” He asked Xena at one point. The dog just cocked her head at him and trotted off to the bathroom to supervise the efforts going on there. 

Dean chose to defer most of the clean-up. He efficiently stripped his shirt off and tossed it on the soiled bed sheets before wadding the whole thing up in a ball. He used the bundle to wipe up the floor. On the way to the laundry chute, he grabbed a set of clean pj’s for Mikey. He stuck his head into the bathroom. Sam had run a few inches of water into the tub and was gently washing Mikey off. The little boy’s cries had tapered off to a few sleepy sobs.

“Here you go,” Dean used a quiet voice. If Mikey was calming down, he didn’t want to get him started again.

“Thanks,” Sam smiled at Dean from under sleep-mussed bangs. Another time, Dean might have enjoyed the sight, but he was distracted at the moment. “You almost done in there?”

“Yeah, just gotta get fresh sheets on the bed,” Dean hesitated. “Unless you think we should put him in ours?”

Sam shook his head. They loved their son, but were in agreement on him belonging in his own bed. “No, I think he’ll be fine in his.”

Dean made short work of putting clean sheets on Mikey’s bed and, since Sam hadn’t finished up with Mikey yet, he took time to dig through the closet. He found the baby monitor and had it set up by the time Sam carried the little boy into the room. Mikey was all but asleep with his head pillowed on Sam’s broad chest. It was a good thing, because Mikey hadn’t needed to have the baby monitor in his room for a long time and wouldn’t have taken its reappearance well, had he noticed.

It didn’t take long to get Mikey back to bed and tucked in. He fell asleep just as quickly as he had the first time.

“Sorry about that,” Sam said as the two fathers walked back to their bedroom.

“For Mount St. Mikey erupting all over me?” Dean asked. When Sam nodded, he shrugged. “Not your fault.”

The two crawled into bed, Dean putting the baby monitor unit on the nightstand.

“That was a good idea,” Sam said around a yawn as he settled next to Dean, slinging one arm over his brother’s waist. 

“I’ve been known to have them,” Dean commented. “This way, we can all get a good night’s sleep.”

It didn’t happen quite that way. They were up with Mikey a couple of times, although he didn’t manage to get his vomit airborne again. Finally, around 4 am, the bouts of sickness eased and the tired fathers managed to fall into a light sleep. The next thing that Dean knew, the entire bed was shaking.

“Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!”

Dean opened bleary eyes and saw that Mikey had crawled up on the bed with them and was jumping up and down in the center. The little boy was all smiles and giggles.

“Hey, champ,” Dean grabbed a flailing arm and gently pulled the three year-old down. He blew a raspberry on his son’s neck, making Mikey shriek and try to get away. Dean let him and the toddler ended up in Sam’s arms.

“I think someone’s feeling better,” Sam stated wryly. “Mikey, what are you doing up so early?”

“Not early, DaSa,” Mikey corrected him. “The alarm went off and the alarm is get up time.”

Dean took a look at the clock radio on the nightstand. Mikey was right; it was past the time they normally got up. He had vague memories of it going off, but must have just shut it off without truly waking up.

“Gotta get a move on, Sammy,” Dean threw the covers back and got out of bed rather more quickly than he did on most mornings. “We’re late.”

Monday mornings were always organized chaos in the Winchester household, but thankfully Sam and Dean were able to cut their morning routine to the bare minimum when necessary. Showers were taken with particular haste, each brother taking his turn as the other got their son fed or dressed. Dean even managed to make a quick call to Liddy, making sure it was okay to bring Mikey in to daycare that day.

“Let me guess,” Liddy had said right after Dean identified himself on the call. “Michael’s been vomiting.”

“I take it he’s not the only one?” Dean asked, grimacing. One barfing little boy was bad enough, he wouldn’t want to be Liddy and have to take care of several at the same time.

“You’re the third call I’ve had,” Liddy replied. “Go ahead and bring him. It’s messy while it lasts, but once they get an appetite back, they’re fine. An appetite isn’t a problem, is it?”

Dean looked over at the table, where Mikey was spooning up cereal as fast as he could. In his eagerness to eat breakfast, the little boy was messier than normal. Not only were there small puddles of milk on the table, but Mikey had a milk moustache too. “Oh, I don’t think it’s a problem at all.”

“Fine, then I’ll see you in a little bit,” Liddy stated. “And thanks for calling to check, Dean. I wish whoever had the stomach bug first would have been as conscientious.”

In short order, the three Winchesters were ready to go. Mikey got dropped off first, with Sam being the one to get the three year-old out of his booster seat and walk him to the house. Sam was next, the college was on the way to the job that Hank had his construction crew working on. Other than the purr of the Impala’s engine, the ride was quiet.

“You okay?” Dean asked when the silence got to be too much. “Mikey’s fine. Just like Debbie said, kids get fevers at the drop of the hat.”

Sam smiled, but it looked hesitant. “It’s not that, it’s just that I was thinking. . . .”

“That’s always dangerous,” Dean quipped, instinctively wanting to lighten the serious mood that was descending on the brothers.

“This is important, Dean,” Sam admonished him. Then he took a deep breath. “The way you got the baby monitor out. That felt right.”

“Tell that to Mikey,” Dean snorted. “He was so proud of being a big boy and not needing it. There will be hell to pay if he notices it’s back.”

Sam shook his head. “I wasn’t thinking of Mikey; I was thinking of the next baby.”

Dean didn’t even consciously think about it, he just swerved the Impala into the next available parking lot. Luckily it was for a business that wasn’t open yet and no other cars were there.

“I thought we were going to wait until Mikey was four?” Dean asked once he’d stopped the car and could swivel to give Sam his complete attention. It wasn’t a matter of wanting another kid - he was just surprised by the timing.

Sam shrugged. “Michael is three now, but even if I got pregnant tomorrow, he’d be four by the time his brother was born.”

Dean focused in on the way Sam worded that. “You still want to be the one to go through with it?”

The smile his brother gave him was silly as hell and full of joy. “Oh, yeah. Not gonna let you back out on the promise. Not in a million years.”

There was a warmth growing in Dean’s belly. He’d hadn’t made the logistical leap that Sam obviously had, but as soon as his brother brought the subject up, Dean realized that the timing was totally right.

“Okay,” Dean nodded solemnly at Sam. “Next time we talk to Dad, we’ll ask him when he can come spend a long weekend with the munchkin and we’ll plan a long road trip.”

“Thanks, Dean,” Sam’s smile grew shy. “For not trying to talk me out of being the one to be pregnant this time.”

Dean shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. He didn’t like the idea of Sam going through what he had, but neither could he find it in himself to deny his brother the experience. At least this time, he told himself furiously, they knew what to expect so it wouldn’t be as bad. 

At least, it damn well better not be.

“Well, you better keep up your end of the bargain,” Dean warned him, letting a little of his emotion bleed into his voice, making it gruff. “You do what I say, when I say.”

Sam snorted. “I don’t remember that being quite the deal.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re going to be that way about it-. . . .”

“When it comes to my health, or the baby’s, you can fuss all you want and I won’t complain,” Sam hastily explained. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll do every single thing you say.”

“When have you ever?” Dean snorted. Something occurred to him and he wiggled his eyebrows. “Could have been fun, you know, you doing everything I said.”

“Yeah, right, for whom?” Sam huffed. He grew suddenly serious. “Last night was kind of rough, do you think we can handle two kids?”

Dean snorted and threw the car back into gear. “The Winchesters? Handle two kids? Yeah, I think we got it in the bag.”

He pulled back onto the road and silence once again descended in the car. This time, though, it was a contented one as they each contemplated the coming future. Two kids would mean twice as much work, but they wouldn’t have it any other way.

Dean rode all the way to the college with his hand pillowed on Sam’s stomach, in preparation of the life that soon would be nestled there.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> February 7, 2011


	105. Father's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is four

Sundays in the Winchester household meant pancakes. It was a simple tradition, but one that Sam cherished. It wasn’t just that the time as a family was important to him, although that was a big part of it, but the feeling of home that the weekly ritual provided. They’d settled down after Michael’s birth, but home was still a new enough concept that Sam held on to it tightly.

They each had their assigned tasks. Sam flipped the pancakes while Dean cooked the meat. At almost four, Michael still wasn’t old enough to handle the plates, which were breakable, but he set out the silverware and was very serious about it. The sight of the little boy as he concentrated on getting the placement right, the tip of his tongue sticking out, was one that Sam knew he’d carry with him forever.

It was unheard of for Sam and Dean to let anything get in the way of Sunday pancakes. Sam hadn’t even let his pregnancy stop him from participating. Thankfully, his belly wasn’t getting big enough to make reaching the griddle difficult and his ankles weren’t swelling like Dean’s had during his pregnancy. Although Sam tired more easily than he normally did, flipping pancakes wasn’t difficult, no matter how hard Sam tried to convince Dean that skill was involved.

So when Sam woke that particular Sunday morning, he was dismayed to realize that the sunlight coming through the window was brighter than normal. They’d overslept. Michael loved pancakes, but he was a very small boy and didn’t have a lot of patience. John was visiting too and, if he got up before his parents, Michael tended to wake his grandfather rather than Sam or Dean. 

“Dean, wake up,” Sam nudged his brother. 

As Sam’s belly got bigger, they’d had to switch up their normal sleeping positions. Instead of sleeping pillowed on Sam, Dean had taken to wrapping himself around Sam from behind. Sam fell asleep each night to the sensation of Dean stroking his stomach and the child it sheltered.

His nudge got no reaction from Dean, so Sam tried it again, with more force. “Dean, Michael’s going to get started without us.”

He felt lips mouth the back of his neck and Sam shivered. Dean had talked him in to getting his hair cut shorter than normal and Sam’s nape was incredibly sensitive. “Let him.”

Sam wiggled. “Dean, not now. It’s Sunday. Pancakes.”

Since his brother was behind him, Sam couldn’t see Dean’s face. His voice, though, was amused. “It’s Sunday all right, Sammy, but that’s not all it is.”

“Huh?” Sam was, perhaps, not completely awake yet. He turned over so he could look at Dean. They were close enough that they were nose to nose. “What do you mean?”

“It’s Father’s Day, Sam,” Dean’s eyes were clear; he’d been awake longer than his brother. “Did you forget?”

“No, I didn‘t forget,” Sam automatically denied. “We’re going out for barbeque with Dad later.” It was part of the reason that John had come into town.

“That’s later, Sammy,” Dean leaned forward and kissed Sam. “Right now, our kid is in cahoots with his sneaky grandfather and is making us breakfast in bed.”

Sam looked at Dean in disbelief. “What? How do you know that?”

Dean shrugged. “Might have overheard them planning last night.” He leaned in and stole another kiss. “Might as well lay back catch a couple of extra z’s.”

“You knew about this?” Sam took a deep breath, scenting the air. Now that Dean had brought his attention it, he could smell something cooking. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

His question got him another shrug. “The surprise is half the fun. Don’t you remember fixing breakfast for Dad?”

Sam thought hard, but only had vague memories. He‘d been very small, maybe even younger than Michael was now. “Did we pour a can of his beer into some Lucky Charms?”

“That we did,” Dean laughed softly. “And the man ate it.” He shook his head, his expression full of admiration for his father. “You better steel yourself, Sammy. I’m betting that Dad put this idea in Mikey’s head. Payback’s a bitch.”

Neither of them had much time to prepare; the sound of little footsteps could be heard in the corridor. Without needing to confer, they both laid their heads on their pillows and closed their eyes. As ruses went, it was lame, but Michael was young enough to be fooled.

Sam heard the slight noise that indicated that the door was opening and forced himself to stay still as he heard their son approach.

“Happy Father’s Day!”

“Wha-?” Dean made a show of rubbing his eyes as he sat up. “Mikey, what’s going on?”

Sam followed his brother’s lead. When he turned over, he saw their son standing there, carefully holding a laden try. Mikey giggled. 

“It’s Father’s Day an’ I made you breakfast,” the little boy announced. He stepped forward, but stopped when one of the glasses on the tray sloshed over. Sam knew there was no way that the little boy could have carried the tray all the way from the kitchen. Sure enough, there was a shadow by the door. Their dad, as Dean had claimed, obviously was a participant in this surprise.

“Smells good,” Sam told Michael. He definitely could smell pancakes, but they smelled sweeter than normal. “What did you make for us?”

Michael approached the bed carefully and Sam could see that there were indeed pancakes on the tray, along with two glasses of oddly colored, opaque liquid. The pancakes looked lumpy to the point of being misshapen.

“Pancakes,” Michael answered, somewhat unnecessarily by that point. He got close to the bed and Dean got to his knees, allowing him to reach over Sam and grab the tray from their son. He set it on the bed where it wasn’t in immediate danger of tipping.

“Did you cook the pancakes?” Dean asked. Sam hoped he knew the answer to that.

“No, G’ndpa helped,” Michael clambered up on the bed. Instead of nestling between his two fathers, he sat opposite them; no doubt to better appreciate their reactions. “S’pise!”

Both fathers grinned at his obvious delight at having fooled them. Sam didn’t need to look at Dean to know his brother was trying every bit as hard as he was to foster the impression that they were truly caught unawares of Michael’s plan. Neither father wanted to ruin the little boy’s joy.

“G’ndpa cooked the pancakes, but I told him what to put in and I smashed up the PopTarts,” the little boy explained.

Sam eyed the plates warily. “I don’t see any PopTarts.” As far as Sam was concerned, PopTarts had no redeeming nutritional value whatsoever, but Dean loved them, as did Michael.

Michael giggled and covered his mouth with his hands. “They’re in the pancakes, DaSa!”

“PopTart pancakes?” Dean rubbed his hands together and, as well as Sam knew his brother, he had no idea if Dean was faking his enthusiasm or not. “Awesome.”

“And what’s that you’ve got for us to drink?” Sam asked. He was almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Milk, DaSa,” Michael giggled again. “But I didn’ know if you wanted strawberry or chocolate milk, so G’npa said to use both.”

Sam didn’t approve of flavoring milk with syrup any more than he did PopTarts, but Dean insisted that both were an important part of childhood. Knowing how much they’d missed growing up, Sam had given in - as long as they were used in moderation.

Dean picked up a glass and took a careful whiff. “Did you use anything else?”

“Uh-huh,” Michael nodded his head vigorously. “DaSa likes juice, so I put some in too.” He looked very proud of himself. “That way there won’t be so many glasses to wash.”

Sam heard a muffled sound by the door. Dean was right, payback was a bitch and John was clearly enjoying himself. As Sam watched, the shadow moved away from the door. Sam looked at the tray and swallowed hard. He hadn’t been plagued with morning sickness like Dean had during his pregnancy, but the thought of drinking strawberry-chocolate-orange milk was more than his stomach could take.

Dean came to his rescue. “Mikey, this looks great, but aren’t you leaving somebody out?”

Michael looked from Sam to Dean. “N-o-o-o-. . . .”

“Grandpa,” Dean supplied the answer. “He’s a father too. Shouldn’t he get some of this special breakfast?”

“Oh,” Michael bit his lip. “It’s okay to share?”

Sam saw where Dean was going. Payback was indeed a bitch.

“It’s more than okay,” Sam chipped in. “We’re your fathers, but Grandpa is our father. DeeDee’s right, I think he should get some too.”

“Okay,” Michael climbed off the bed, his little feet moving almost as soon as they hit the floor. “G’npa!”

Dean was off the bed the moment Michael left the room. He grabbed both glasses and headed to the bathroom attached to their bedroom. Sam heard the sound of liquid hitting the sink and then the water running. 

“I love you,” Sam told Dean as soon as his brother was back in sight. 

Grinning, Dean picked up a napkin and then bent his head down for a quick kiss. “I am pretty awesome.”

By the time Michael returned, John in tow, the Winchester brothers were back in position, twin expressions of innocence on their faces. Both made a point of wiping their mouths with their napkins.

“Your milk juice was wonderful, Michael,” Sam told the little boy. “I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

Michael grinned and all but bounced onto the bed. “C’mon, G’npa.”

“You drank that awfully quick, boys,” John looked at them suspiciously. 

“It was good stuff,” Dean claimed. 

Dean had a smile on his face, but it dropped for a moment while Michael’s attention was elsewhere. Dean’s eyes went from the empty glasses to Sam’s stomach. When he looked at their father again, Dean shook his head minutely. Sam felt a wave a pleasure. Dean had just castigated their father for instigating a prank while Sam was pregnant. While Dean was notoriously protective of Sam, it didn’t usually extend to John, so Sam was pleased.

“Have you tried the pancakes yet?” Michael asked. 

“Nope,” Dean replied. “Was waiting for you.”

They all watched while Dean picked up his fork and dug into his pancakes. Sam held his breath while Dean chewed, a look of intense concentration on his face. “Dang, that’s good.”

“Yeah!: Michael giggled. “I knew you’d like it.” He turned towards Sam. “Your turn, DaSa.”

Sam felt three sets of eyes on him as he took a bite of his own pancakes. There were chunks in them; the pancakes hadn’t been cooked at a high enough temperature to melt the PopTarts. It made for a rather unpalatable texture and the taste was overly sweet for Sam’s palate, but it was edible - if barely. He was just thankful that Michael hadn‘t remembered syrup. “Mmmmm. . . good!”

Dean looked at their father. “Your turn, Grandpa.”

“I don’t know about that, Dean-o, this was Mikey’s special treat for the two of you,” John tried to wiggle out of it. 

“But, G’npa, you’re a father too,” Michael insisted. He hadn’t thought of it himself, but once his DeeDee had pointed out to him, obviously he wanted his beloved grandfather to be part of the special day. “Please?”

There wasn’t much that John could say in protest. Dean handed him his fork, a smug smile on his face. John took a bite of the pancake, a stoic look on his face as he chewed. “Yummy.”

Sam gave his fork to Michael, who took a bite and echoed his grandfather’s sentiments. “Yummy! DeeDee, DaSa, can we have PopTart pancakes every Sunday?”

Dean choked as he saw Sam’s face and what must have been a panicked look on it. He recovered quickly, though, and answered their little boy.

“I don’t know, big guy,” Dean answered. “If we have them every Sunday, then they won’t be special and these are mighty special pancakes.”

“At least I didn’t use beer,” John mumbled. 

Sam threw back his head and laughed until his sides hurt. All three of the other Winchesters looked at him like he was crazy.

“You okay there, Sammy?” Dean was cautious when he asked.

“Just happy,” Sam assured him. “Pancakes on Sunday morning; what could be better?”

Dean looked at Sam, then over to their son and father. His smile showed Sam that his brother understood perfectly. “Next year, there’ll be two of them.”

“I know,” Sam’s face felt sore, he was smiling so hard. He grabbed Dean’s t-shirt and pulled him in for a deep kiss.

It was too much for John. “That’s my cue to leave.”

Michael wasn’t as faint hearted as his grandfather. He settled onto the bed with his parents. No doubt he’d eaten breakfast already, but both fathers shared their pancakes with him. The sugar high, for all three of them, was going to be a bitch, but Sam figured it was worth it.

He was already looking forward to Poptart pancakes, with both of his sons, next year.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michael is four years old


	106. First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is 5, Danny is 1

Mornings were always organized chaos at the Winchester household, with the emphasis on organized. The routines of two adult men readying for work normally could be chaos all on their own, but Sam and Dean had it down pat. They’d spent their entire lives doing their morning ablutions while sharing the small space — and even smaller bathroom - of a cheap motel room. In contrast, having a whole house to work in made sharing the facilities a piece of cake. The addition of two small boys complicated matters, as did two dogs that needed to be fed and let out. Even so, they were their father’s sons at heart and had worked out a routine that was less than military, but more than adequate for getting everyone out the door on time with a minimal amount of fuss.

Most mornings, anyway.

“Michael, Dean, breakfast’s ready,” Sam stood at the bottom of the stairs and called up to his family.

After hearing a muffled answer in a child’s voice, Sam knew that Michael, at least, had heard him. Satisfied, he headed back to the kitchen where he quickly dished up three plates of scrambled eggs, toast and bacon and one small bowl of eggs. The dogs had been let out in the backyard and clatter of two sets of footsteps on the floor heralded the arrival of the rest of his family.

“Wow, Sammy, that’s quite the spread,” Dean stopped momentarily in the kitchen doorway, sniffing in appreciation before moving forward. He was holding a very sleepy baby. 

“Morning, DaSa,” Michael, on the other hand, was wide awake and readily made his way to the table.

Sam cast a critical eye over his oldest as Michael slid into his chair. Michael was wearing new jeans and a plaid shirt, a combination that was the equivalent to a Winchester uniform. Under the shirt, Sam could see a dark gray t-shirt and he grinned. It had a graphic of a classic car on it, a Mustang, and was currently Michael’s favorite piece of clothing. 

“Looking good, Michael,” Sam ruffled the boy’s hair as he walked by. “Are you excited?”

“Uh-huh,” Michael’s head bobbed up and down enthusiastically. He picked up his fork and made as if to dive into his plate of food.

“Whoa there, buddy,” Sam stalled him. “What do we do first?”

Michael put his fork down and looked at both his hands, then held them up for Sam’s inspection. “They’re clean.”

There was a snort of laughter from the other side of the table and Sam briefly looked over. Dean was in the process of putting Danny in his high chair. Realizing that Sam was glaring at him, Dean put on his best innocent expression. Sam wasn’t buying it for a minute.

“Before we eat, we give thanks for the food,” Sam reminded his son. He and Dean might have been raised with minimal attention to such formalities, but Sam was determined that their children would be different.

Michael sighed and put his hands together. Sam stood with his head bowed and even Dean followed suit.

“Thank you, God, for the food, especially bacon. Pigs rock.” Michael finished and put his hands down, the expression he turned towards Sam a clear request for permission to eat.

“Good enough.” Sam grinned, he loved bacon too. “Go ahead and dig in.”

There was silence at the table for a few moments except for the sound of forks scraping against plates. Michael, in particular, was quick to wolf down his food.

“Can we go now, DaSa?” Michael asked when he was finished, fairly vibrating in his chair.

“Slow down there, slugger, some of us aren’t done yet.” Dean answered before Sam could. He turned towards his brother. “I thought he’d be a teenager before he’d be out eating me.”

“But DeeDee, it’s the first day of school,” Michael protested. “We don’t wanna be late.”

Dean looked at the clock. “We got plenty of time. Besides, we’ve still got the dishes to do, clothes to iron and a barn to muck out.”

Michael looked worried for a moment and then folded his arms across his chest as he glared at his father. “We don’t have a barn, DeeDee.”

“I think he’s on to you, Dean.” Sam said it with a grin. “Quit torturing him.”

Dean sighed dramatically. “Fine. Go get your backpack while we finish up here, Mikey.”

Michael whooped and got up, his chair almost knocked over by his enthusiasm. He made as though to trot out of the room, but Sam stopped him. “Don’t forget to put your dishes in the dishwasher and please let the dogs in while you’re over there.”

The little boy gave Sam a look that clearly said he thought that such mundane matters should be forgotten for the day. He was a good kid, though, and did as his father asked with a minimal amount of pouting. That done, Michael left the room and headed for the stairs, Xena right behind him. Joxer stopped to sniff Danny’s foot, causing the baby to giggle. Satisfied that his charge was safely accounted for, Joxer followed the other two.

“That full geek on for school, that’s all you.” Dean watched their son fondly until Michael was out of sight and then started the process of wiping food off of Danny’s face. The one year-old didn’t like that much, but stopped fussing as soon as his older father made funny faces at him. 

Sam shrugged and moved to clear the table. “At least he doesn’t have the added nervousness of being the new kid in school. We went through that more times than I can count.”

“Speak for yourself, Sammy,” Dean countered. He picked Danny up out of the highchair and balanced him on his hip. “I wasn’t nervous at all. A new city just meant new chicks to conquer.”

There was a time when Sam would have jokingly protested that kind of statement by pretending to be jealous, even though he knew that Dean was blowing smoke. Jo Harvelle had changed that. Ellen’s daughter had made a big play for Dean when Danny was just a newborn, and she’d used Dean’s reputation as a ladies’ man to try to cast doubt on his fidelity. Sam’s belief in his brother’s faithfulness never wavered for a minute, but it had been a rough patch for both of them. Sam saw Dean’s banter about his past dating habits as a good sign; maybe that part of their life was finally getting back to normal.

“His teacher seems nice enough.” He and Dean had gone to an open house with Michael the week before while their dad watched Danny. The woman was about Sam’s age and she’d charmed Michael, not that the little boy wasn’t already raring to go to school.

“Miss Stevens? She’s sharp as a tack.” Dean’s expression was proud. “She’ll have to be, to keep up with Egghead Jr.”

“He’s pretty smart, isn’t he?” Dean wasn’t the only proud one.

“Yeah and he’s going to have a blast at school, Sammy.”

Shoulders slumping, Sam towards toward his brother. “That obvious, huh?”

Dean snorted. “Only to anyone who can see.”

Danny picked that moment to realize that he hadn’t gotten enough attention from his younger father yet. He held out chubby arms to Sam, fingers opening and shutting in demand. “Daaaa!”

“Yes, sir, right away.” Sam addressed the baby up as he took him from Dean and then kissed him on the cheek. “You’re bossy; it’s a good thing you’re so cute.”

“Yeah, well, don’t worry about Mikey.” Dean didn’t let himself be distracted. “He’s going to be running that school in a week or two; the kid can handle himself. Besides, his teacher is squeaky clean. All of them are.”

Sam raised one eyebrow as the import of his brother’s words sank in. “Are you telling me that you ran a background check on our son’s kindergarten teacher?”

Dean didn’t back down. “Technically, Bobby did it for me, but yeah. There are no pedophiles on staff, everyone pays their taxes and no mysterious or potentially supernatural happenings have ever reported on the school grounds.”

As Dean gave his report, Sam felt his grin getting wider. “You have never looked sexier to me than you do at this moment.”

To Sam’s vast amusement, Dean actually blushed. “Well, you never can be too careful.”

Michael came bouncing back into the kitchen, his little face shining with excitement. Sam’s heart melted and hardened at the same time. He cherished his little boy’s innocence — and he’d move heaven and hell alike to make sure nothing marred it. 

“Yeah, just like that,” Dean said softly. Sam looked over to find perfect understand in his brother’s eyes; Dean was feeling the same combination of love and fierce protectiveness that Sam was. “Mikey’s lucky I’m not going with him and sitting in the back of the room with a shotgun.”

“No weapons in school, DeeDee,” Michael had heard the comment and shook his finger at his father. “Not even rubber bands.”

“Oh, that’s just wrong,” Dean muttered under his breath. “What’s school without rubber band fights?” He turned to their son. “When you get a little older, Mikey, I’ll show you something that works even better.”

Michael looked interested in that comment, but Sam prevented any questions. “Come on, I thought you were eager to get to school?”

It wasn’t quite that easy, of course. They were all going, since it was Michael’s first day, but in short order, the baby was bundled up and they headed outside. Dean ignored the SUV and made a beeline for the Impala.

“We’re taking the Impala?” Michael asked, eyes wide with surprise.

“You bet,” Dean looked at Sam hard, as though daring him to contest his choice. “The first day of school’s a big thing and all the family needs to be present.”

Sam, however, had no intention of protesting. He wasn’t as fanatical about the Impala as his brother was, but knew it was an important part of their lives. Besides, their dad was helping Bobby out with a hunt in Nebraska and couldn’t be there for the occasion. The Impala was a fitting stand-in.

“Can Xena and Joxer come too?” Michael asked. 

Sam chuckled; their oldest had taken Dean’s all the family comment to heart. “No dogs at school. Some kids are allergic.”

“Besides,” Dean added. “Bobby already taught Xena and Joxer everything they need to know.”

Michael was too eager to get to school to argue the point. After a couple of obligatory photos to document the event, they were all strapped in to their respective seats and underway. For once the music was left off. Neither father minded, grinning at each other as they listened to Michael’s happy chatter.

The school wasn’t that far away, just far enough that they weren’t comfortable for Michael to walk there, but not distant enough to qualify him for bus service. From the looks of things, the Winchesters weren’t the only ones to drive their child to school. The school lot was packed, but they found a spot on the street less than a block away.

“Hang on a minute, Michael,” Sam crouched down by their son as Dean got Danny out of his car seat. “Remember what we said about blocking emotions?”

“Yes, DaSa,” Michael replied absently, his eyes roaming around to watch the other kids. “I keep the wall in my head up high and if I feel anything pushing against it, I sing my song to myself until it stops.”

“That’s right,” Sam smiled at him. “This will be like the times we went to the shopping mall or the zoo - a lot more people than were at daycare.”

“I know, DaSa.” Michael tore his attention away from goggling at the other children and gave his father an exasperated look. “I been practicing.”

That had been the purpose of spending the summer exposing Michael to places with crowds, to get him used to protecting himself from being overwhelmed by other people’s emotions. For the most part it went smoothly; when Michael was very interested in something, he tended to focus on the activity and that helped. Sam had no doubt that school would take most of Michael’s attention. The only problem they’d had was with shopping for school clothes, but in that instance, the near-meltdown had been Dean and not Michael. A busy shopping mall and Dean did not mix well.

“We know that, Mikey,” Dean stepped into the conversation. “We’re dads, we’re supposed to worry. That’s our job. What song are you usin’ now, anyway?”

“In the Heat of the Moment.”

Sam thought for a minute, but he didn’t remember anything too objectionable in the lyric. Sometimes Michael forgot and sang out loud. Thankfully he’d outgrown his Ozzy Ozbourne phase before school started.

Dean nodded his approval. “Asia’s good.”

Michael nodded his head enthusiastically. “They rock.”

Sam looked forward to Danny getting a little older and maybe have an ally in the house for a different kind of music. Or maybe Michael would learn more traditional children’s songs at school. He thought about that for a moment, but then his mind went back to Michael singing “Eye of the Tiger” at the top of his lungs while playing in the backyard. No, he wouldn’t change a thing about his son’s choice in music.

“Another thing, Michael,” Sam warned the little boy. “Some of the kids in your class, they may not be able to read as well as you do. You just have to be patient if the teacher needs to go slower for them.”

“I know, DaSa,” Michael assured him. “An’ maybe I can help them, if the teacher’s too busy.”

Sam smiled at the innocent offer. “Yeah, I bet you could.” He didn’t admonish the boy not to tease anyone who wasn’t as bright as he was; he didn’t need to. Michael’s ability to sense another’s emotions meant he was particularly sensitive to that sort of thing.

As a family, they walked the short distance to the school. The kindergarten teachers were waiting outside, hoping that gathering their students into a group to go inside together would make the separation from their parents less stressful. 

Sam had fully expected for Michael to run ahead when he saw his teacher, but he didn’t. Instead, Michael came to a full stop and pressed himself back against his fathers’ legs.

“What’s the matter, kiddo?” Dean asked. The two fathers exchanged a worried look over Michael’s head.

Michael’s lower lip trembled. “What if they don’t like me?”

“Not like you?” Dean scoffed. “Nah, it’d never happen.”

“You’re a great kid,” Sam added. “You know that we love you, right?”

“Yeah,” Michael sniffed. “But you’re my dads; you gotta love me, it’s the law.”

Dean was still holding Danny, but he reached down to cup Michael’s chin, gently making the boy look at him. “You just treat people the way you want them to treat you.” He jiggled the baby, making Danny giggle. “Better yet, you treat them just as nice as you’d want them to treat your baby brother. Then, if they don’t like you, it’s not your fault, it’s just because their di-. . . .” 

Sam quickly cleared his throat and Dean abruptly changed what he was going to say.

“It’d be because they’re not nice people and you don’t need that kind as friends anyway,” Dean concluded. 

“You were friends with everyone at the daycare, right?” Sam pointed out. “So if the daycare kids like you, the kindergarten kids will too.”

Michael’s face brightened. “Yeah, that’s right and Devon said he was in my class too. Devan’s cool!”

“Well, there you go,” Dean looked as relieved as Sam felt. “Look, Miss Stevens is waving at you, better get a move on.”

The little boy took a couple of steps forward, then turned back and hugged Sam’s legs and then Dean’s. “Bye, DaSa! Bye DeeDee! Bye, Danny!”

With that, Michael turned around and trotted off towards his teacher. They stood and watched as he greeted his friend from daycare enthusiastically and the other kids with a little more caution. Eventually the teacher rounded the kids up. Only as he was walking towards the school did Michael turn back and wave. Even from a distance, they could see how happy he was.

Sam and Dean stood until their son was out of sight. Then, as if rehearsed, they turned back to the car. 

Dean got Danny into his carseat and then slid behind the wheel. “Well, that sucked.”

Although they were both proud of Michael, neither Winchester felt good about handing their son over to the care of adults that weren’t them. Sam supposed that every parent felt the same that emotion to a certain degree, but given the way Sam and Dean were raised, it was even harder.

“Michael’s gonna love school,” Sam stated bravely. The melancholy that had hit after Michael walked away had taken him by surprise. After he got a good look at Dean’s face, Sam decided to admit it. “But, yeah. Major suckage. Better yet, we get to do it all over again in four years for Danny.”

“Nope.” Dean adjusted the rearview mirror so that he could look into the backseat. “Danny’s gonna stay little and cute forever. No school for you, young man.”

Danny knew he was being talked to, even if he didn’t understand the words. He squealed and kicked his feet, happy to be the center of his fathers’ attention.

“You just say that because he looks like you,” Sam teased.

“Well, yeah,” Dean grinned. With the ease of years of practice, he pulled the Impala out of its parking space and headed down the road. “Do you want me to drop you and the munchkin off to get your monstrosity of an SUV or shall I take you in to school?”

Sam thought about it. Classes at the college didn’t start until next week, but he was expected to be there for meetings, to be available to prospective students and that sort of thing. Normally, he’d take the boys with him and drop them the university daycare, but with Michael at school, that routine would need to change. They’d arranged that Sam would drop each child off and then Dean would pick Michael up, while Sam would get Danny on his way home. Still, it was the first day of school; there was time enough to establish the new routine.

“Just take us on to the university— and then come get me before you get Michael?” Sam didn’t use his puppy dog eyes as much as he used to, but he still knew how to work them. “I’ll want to hear all about his day.”

Dean waggled his eyebrows at Sam. “Professor Winchester gonna play some hooky? Me likey.”

His teasing made Sam smile and the way Danny laughed from the back seat only added to Sam’s contentment. Yeah, Michael was starting school and it was a pretty big deal. Michael would love it, though, and Sam was proud as hell of him, even if it did mean that his little boy had taken his first step towards independence. They had years before Michael grew up, though. It might be a little too soon for empty nest syndrome.

And, besides, they still had Danny and he wasn’t ever going to grow up. At least, that was what Sam was going to tell himself for the rest of the day.

The end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted September 22, 2011


	107. Fireflies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is two and a half

“Up, Gn-pa, up!”

Sam grinned as he watched his dad lift Michael to about an adult’s chest height. The little boy was two and a half and was mesmerized by fireflies from the moment he’d seen them. Sam had found an empty plastic container that was small enough to fit into Michael’s hands and the little boy had immediately recruited his grandfather as his helper in catching some of the elusive bugs.

“How fare the mighty hunters?” Dean had gone into the house for a beer run and had returned with one for his brother too.

“The insect world trembles before them.” Sam grinned. He never thought he’d see his father being a willing participant in a firefly hunt, but there he was, lifting his little grandson in his arms and running around the yard with him like a mad man.

Dean settled into the lounge chair next to Sam’s. “May bugs be the most dangerous thing that Mikey ever hunts.”

He held his bottle out and Sam clinked his own against it. “From your lips to God’s ears.” 

Both brothers took a long swig from their bottles and then made twin sighs of satisfaction. It’d been a great summer, the best that Sam had ever had. Of course, he’d thought that every summer since his son had been born, but this one was truly special. Michael was old enough to be a blast to play with, Sam and Dean were working together as construction contractors, and their father was a frequent visitor. There was no shadow over their heads anymore about their mother’s death and no ghosts or ghouls seemed to have followed them to the home they’d made for themselves. Sam supposed it would simply be a normal life to anyone else. Dull, even, but to Sam it was Shangri-la, heaven, and a dream come true all rolled up into one.

And next summer would be even better because, by then, Sam would pregnant with their second son. He shivered in pleasure.

“You okay, Sammy?” Dean asked, eyes dark with worry.

Sam smiled sheepishly as he shook his head. “I’m fine, just thinking how much fun it’s going to be to have two of them.”

“Another rug rat?” Dean pretended to scowl, but a smile played around his lips. “Might be nice.”

“DeeDee, DaSa! DeeDee! DaSa!” Michael ran to where they were sitting, chubby toddler’s legs pumping for all they were worth. The little boy was grinning from ear to ear and he was brandishing his plastic container ahead of him. Sam could see three distinct lights; Michael’s hunt had been a success. 

Michael came to a stop in between his fathers’ chairs. “Pretty!” 

Sam took the container from the little boy, making a show of admiring Michael’s catches. “They’re beautiful.”

John walked up at a more sedate pace, but his pride in his grandson was evident from the look on his face. “Mikey went after those bugs like nobody’s business; he’s a chip off the old block.”

“Magic!” Mikey declared as he stared at his beloved fireflies. 

The adult Winchesters gave each other uneasy looks. They didn’t want to deny the little boy one of the innocent fantasies of childhood, but they knew better than most people that magic existed and that it was anything but innocent.

“Naw, that’s not magic, Mikey.” John knelt beside his grandson. “See, those bugs’ daddies, they fed ‘em bean burritos. Since bugs can’t fart like your DaSa can, their butts light up instead.”

Michael giggled. “Stinky, DaSa.” Too excited to stand still, he ran full-steam back into the yard. “C’mon, Gn-Pa. More stinky light buggies.”

Sam gave his father an exasperated look. “Really?”

John got to his feet, brushing off his knees as he did. “You’re my son and I love you, Sammy, but I would not risk lighting a match in your vicinity after you’ve eaten Mexican and that’s a fact.” Then, before Sam could protest, he took off after his grandson.

Dean had been noticeably silent during that exchange. Sam looked over at him and saw that Dean was hiding his face in his beer bottle. It shook a little bit and from what Sam could see of his brother’s eyes, Dean thought the whole thing damn funny. 

“You were a lot of help,” Sam complained, although there was no heat in it.

Shrugging, Dean finally let his grin spread across his face. “No arguing with the truth, Sammy.” 

“Fine.” Sam huffed — but his brother wasn’t finished yet.

“There were a few times when I wished I had fed you Mexican before we went on a hunt,” Dean continued. “I think you could have taken out a couple of unfriendlies.”

Sam pointed at Dean with his beer bottle. “Lucky for you that it’s too perfect a night to kick your ass.”

Dean just laughed and went back to watching Michael and their dad at play. Sam allowed himself an evil grin. It was his turn to cook supper the next night and he’d just decided that burritos were on the menu.

Evening came late in the summer and by the time it was full dark, it was well after Michael’s bedtime. The little boy was obviously exhausted, but was not too keen on bringing his fun to a close.

“No!” Michael shook his head violently when Dean suggested it was time for little boys to go to bed. “Want to play with my buggies.”

“It’s time for bugs to go to bed too, buddy.” Dean told him. “See, there aren’t nearly so many around now.”

It was true. The evening had started off with many fireflies, but only a few of them flickered now.

“Besides, champ, Grandpa’s tired.” John chimed in. “What say me and you get us some milk and then maybe read a story.”

“Okay.” Michael was not immune to his grandfather’s charm. He put his plastic container under his arm and turned towards the house. “Buggies come too.” 

“Nope.” Dean disagreed, keeping his tone friendly but firm. “Bugs belong outside.”

Michael’s must have been more tired even than Sam thought, because the little boy’s lower lip immediately started to tremble. “But want buggies to come to bed wif me.”

“But they can’t, Michael.” Sam got off his chair to kneel next to the little boy. Michael didn’t have temper tantrums often, but when they happened, it was hard on all of them. He’d hate for a tantrum to mar their great evening. “It’s their bedtime too and if they don’t go home, their daddies will be worried about them.”

Michael looked mournfully at his bug jar before sighing deeply. Sam was about bursting with pride; his little boy was the most compassionate person he knew. He’d leave behind the bugs to keep the bug daddies from worrying.

“O-tay.” Michael handed the jar to Sam, sad but compliant. “Bye, bye, buggies.”

“Give your daddies a kiss goodnight,” John picked the little boy up again. Michael perked up as he kissed his fathers.

“Night, night.” Michael rubbed his eyes as his grandfather headed towards the house.

John stopped just before he went through the door. “Oh, and boys, I can look out for Mikey for a while. You two can stay out here and do-. . . .” He cleared his throat. “Whatever it is that you do when you’ve got some alone time.”

Before they could respond, John ducked inside with Mikey in his arms. Sam and Dean stared at each other for a few moments.

“Did Dad just give us permission to make out?” Dean asked. His eyes were wide open with surprise. 

“I think he did.” Sam gave a startled laugh. “Wow.”

“Go, Dad.” Dean looked as proud as he had the day that Michael took his first step. 

Sam sidled closer to Dean. “You wanna go skinny-dipping in the pool?”

As one, they turned to look at the plastic kiddie pool they had for Michael. It was shaped like a bright, green turtle and was not even a foot deep.

“Don’t think so, Sammy.” Dean shook his head.

Sam threaded a finger through Dean’s belt loop, pulling him close. “Getting stuffy in your old age?”

Dean laughed. “It’s not that, it’s just that I’m pretty sure that Mikey peed in the pool.”

The comment startled a bark of laughter out of Sam. “I guess he really is a chip off the old block.”

Dean grinned. “Yeah, but which one?”

“Not saying.” Sam grinned back. “Well, I guess if the pool is out of the question, perhaps I can interest you in a cuddle?”

“As long as some kissing is involved.” Dean had a wicked look on his face, making Sam glad that their back yard had a lot of privacy. “At least until Dad and Mikey are bedded down for the night. Then we can go back inside for some more adult-type of fun.”

Sam tugged his brother towards the large porch swing. They’d built it themselves and it was sturdy enough for two men. Liddy had sewn some fluffy pillows for it. The result was that the swing was a perfect spot for curling up with someone you loved.

“Wait a minute.” 

Dean made a detour to the picnic table. In the flurry of goodnight kisses, Michael’s jar of fireflies had been forgotten. Dean picked it up and opened the lid, shaking the container lightly. “Fly, be free.”

“I didn’t know you were a bug lover.” Sam leaned against the porch wall, watching his brother liberating the insects.

“If we leave ‘em in the jar, they’ll croak.” Dean shrugged. “It’s too beautiful tonight for anything to die.”

Sam’s breath caught. Casual observers would assume that Mike got his inherent kindness from Sam, but that wasn’t entirely true. Dean hid his empathy under layers of sarcasm and general bullshit, but he was every bit compassionate as his brother and son.

“You big softie,” Sam said quietly. He held his hand out to Dean. “Come here.”

The two men settled on the porch swing, Sam in the corner and Dean leaning up against him. With his son inside with his father and his brother in his arms, Sam knew it had been one of the most perfect days in his life. All the moving around and hunting when they were kids, the isolation they’d endured and tragedy they’d seen, it had all been worth it for days like the one he’d just experienced.

“This is the life, isn’t it?” Dean said quietly. Apparently Sam hadn’t been the only one indulging in some introspection.

“Yeah, perfect.” Sam kissed the top of Dean’s head, prompting Dean to lift his face for a kiss on the lips instead. Sam gladly complied.

It was the perfect ending to a perfect day . . . . but Sam was still making burritos tomorrow.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> July 30, 2012


	108. Sleepless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is approximately two months pregnant

Sam Winchester sat with his back to the flimsy motel headboard and his long legs stretched out ahead of him. His brother was a warm lump pressed close, head pillowed on Sam’s hip and warm breath fluttering over Sam’s bare skin with every exhale.

It was hardly the first sleepless night Sam had endured, but the reason for his insomnia differentiated this night from any of the others. He wasn’t brooding over a fight with his father; stressed about upcoming finals; or even mourning the death of his first love, Jessica.

Sam couldn’t sleep because he going to be a father and that fact scared him shitless.

He was well aware that he was hardly the first father-to-be that was worried about pending parenthood, but Sam thought he had plenty of reasons to be more concerned than most. First and foremost, it was his brother that was pregnant and neither of them had any idea if Dean would even survive the gestation period, let alone the actual birth. For all his reassurances to Dean, in the dark of the night when the only company he had was the sound of his brother’s breathing, it seemed preposterous to Sam that the pregnancy would be successful. As excited as Sam was at the thought of a son or daughter, he was very much afraid that he’d end up with neither and lose Dean in the process too.

If that weren’t enough to worry about, Sam also had doubts about his own ability to be a good parent. He was a hunter; what did he know about being a father?

His doubt didn’t stem from a lack of male authority figures; Sam had been surrounded by them his whole life. His dad. Bobby. Jim Murphy. All good men, but skewed by what they’d experienced while hunting, not to mention the circumstances that had driven them to hunt in the first place. Sam had learned from all three men; he just wasn’t sure that their lessons were anything that would be helpful in raising his own kid.

From his father, Sam had learned to shoot, to field dress a variety of minor injuries - and how to hold a grudge. Father Jim had helped Sam refine his Latin, taught him how to make holy water and showed him that God was more than a weapon. Bobby had come the closest to teaching Sam ‘normal’ skills, particularly the research techniques that Sam had relied on during college. But Bobby had also dealt with his anger at John by pulling a shotgun on him; not exactly something that should be used as a role model.

If Sam was intending that his child be raised as a miniature hunter, then he was all set. Since he wasn’t, Sam wasn’t sure how he was going to handle being a father.

Dean made a soft noise and stirred slightly, rubbing his cheek against the warmth of Sam’s skin. The action made Sam smile. Ever since they’d become lovers, Dean had become incredibly attuned to Sam’s emotional state and often woke up when Sam couldn’t sleep. While normally Sam would appreciate the company, he knew his brother needed the rest. Dean’s pregnancy might only be a couple of months along, but it was taking a lot out of him. In part it was that extreme exhaustion that had caused Sam to be suspicious that Dean was pregnant in the first place. Sam had done a lot of reading about the whole gestation process and knew that their baby was only about the size of a kidney bean. It was hard to believe that something so small could have such a profound effect on their lives.

“Shhh,” Sam said softly as he petted Dean’s hair. “I’m okay; just sleep.”

Thankfully, Sam could lie better to Dean while his brother was asleep than he could when Dean was awake. Sam was far from okay, but the soothing touch combined with the gentle voice soon had lulled the other man back into a deep sleep. Sam smiled down at him again. Although he didn’t like seeing his brother so wiped out, at least being pregnant meant that Dean’s needs got seen to for a change. His sibling was far too self-sacrificing for Sam’s comfort.

That’s when it hit him. 

“You’re an idiot,” Sam softly to himself. He felt the words had to be said out loud, although he spoke quietly enough to insure that he didn’t wake his brother. 

Sam wouldn’t be raising their baby alone; Dean would be there. Worries about Dean surviving the pregnancy aside, Sam didn’t have to figure out all of the parenting stuff by himself. In fact, when it came to role models for fatherhood, Sam couldn’t do much better than Dean.

While they were growing up, it had been Dean who’d seen to Sam’s everyday care. He’d done everything from show Sam how to tie his shoes, to explaining where babies came from, to teaching him how to drive. Time and again, it had been Dean who’d covered for Sam or intervened with their dad came down too hard on his youngest. Despite the sibling rivalry that reared its ugly head from time to time, Dean had always put Sam first — even before a hunt. In all the ways that Dean was different from their own father that was the most important one to Sam. 

Before Sam left for college; and to his shame, a little after; Sam had looked down on Dean for not wanting an education. The last year had been a brutal teacher, though, and Sam knew better. Dean had painstakingly learned what was important to him; it just hadn’t been book learning. The two brothers’ styles had meshed to near seamless perfection, with Sam’s academic prowess being a good counter to Dean’s superior experience. Together, the two had faced down supernatural creatures that had felled more experienced hunters. The two were more than brothers or lovers, they were partners — in every sense of the word.

The more he thought about it, the less worried Sam became about Dean surviving the pregnancy too. Oh, he’d probably be concerned to a certain extent the entire time, but the legends around the fertility idol had said nothing about any of the women who became pregnant after touching it dying. Whatever entity the idol belonged to, it seemed to help pregnancy happen. Every story about the idol indicated that it was benign; surely the power behind it wouldn’t gift Dean with pregnancy, only to take it away? Either way, Sam knew that he and Dean would face the future side by side.

“We’re a team,” Sam whispered to his sleeping brother. “We’re gonna figure this out together.”

If he’d been awake, no doubt Dean would have said something like ‘Damn straight’ or “Took you long enough, Einstein.’ The thought made Sam grin, but the smile was interrupted by a huge yawn. With his realization had come a huge sense of relief. With the weight off his shoulders, Sam felt like he could sleep.

San wiggled carefully so that he was laying flat. Dean murmured a sleepy protest, but didn’t truly wake. As soon as Sam settled, he pulled his brother close, encouraging Dean to lay across his chest. 

Yes, Sam was a hunter and he didn’t know anything about being a father, but with Dean at his side, Sam was looking forward to learning along the way.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted February 18, 2013


	109. Life of the Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is almost two.

"What's wrong, Sammy?" Dean was surprised to see a look of uncertainty on his younger brother's face.

Sam's expression, as he answered, was sheepish. "I don't know what to bring."

Dean immediately understood his sibling's problem. Torching a ghost, staking a vamp or even ganking a rawhead were all situations that the Winchester brothers knew how to prepare for. For a hunt, the two of them pretty much grabbed weapons and equipment purely on instinct alone. It was that very hunter lifestyle, though, that left them woefully unprepared for the circumstances they currently found themselves in.

What the hell kind of supplies would they need for a toddler's birthday party?

"What would we usually bring when we take Mikey out?" Dean asked. "Diapers, a change of clothes, some toys, snacks. . . ."

Sam had started gathering some of the stuff, but hesitated over the last two items. "I dunno, Dean. It's a party. I think it's safe to assume that they'll have activities and food."

Dean shrugged. "Then leave those out." He lifted his face so he could look into the living room, where their nearly two year-old son was currently playing with the dog. Well, Mikey was trying to climb Xena and she was letting him. "Yo, Mikey, let's go."

"DeeDeeDee!" Mikey called out in excitement as he waddled towards his fathers. Dean grinned. Their kid wasn't overly chubby by any means but wearing a diaper gave him a funny walk.

"You ready to party?" Dean asked as he swung the little boy into his arms. 

Mikey didn't have a clue about what a party was, but any outing with his fathers was a fun time as far as he was concerned. Laughing, he clapped his hands and giggled. "Go!"

Dean lifted one eyebrow in amusement before turning to his brother. "You heard the man, Samuel. Let's get a move on."

Sam grinned. "Yes, sir. Right away, sir."

After a last pat on the head for the dog, the two men loaded their little boy and supplies into the Impala and took off for the party. The celebration was for the birthday of a little girl in Mikey's daycare and thankfully the woman who ran it had taken pity on the boys and let them go in on a gift with her. Dean had plenty of experience with women and he'd even been around some friends' infant daughter, but had no idea of what a little girl Mikey's age would like. All he knew is that the color pink would likely have been involved. Dean had managed to avoid pink for most of his life and would prefer to keep that streak running.

Thanks to wandering most of their lives, it was nothing for the brothers to navigate to the address on the party invitation. The invite had said `field house' and Dean had been expecting a traditional building — and part of it was. The entrance was brick and mortar, but it was connected to an inflated dome.

"Huh." Dean looked at the structure. He knew they were at the right address; Winchesters simply didn't get lost.

"Seems an odd place to have a kid's birthday party." Sam was equally unsure.

Dean shrugged. "I guess there's only one way to find out."

He got Mikey out of his car seat while Sam toted the diaper bag. As they approached the entrance, it became easy to tell that they were indeed the right place. The closer they got, the more clearly they could hear the noise of a large group of children playing rambunctiously.

"It's not too late to split." Dean offered. "Little Patsy'll still get her present too because Liddy's here. I saw her car."

"We're not leaving." Sam had his prissy expression on. "It's only a bunch of kids."

By that time they'd nearly gotten to the door. Someone came out and as the door opened, the sound belched out, exponentially louder than it had been before. Both brothers came to a dead stop. Neither made a move to hold the door open and it shut behind the woman who'd just exited, reducing the noise to a more acceptable level.

Dean flinched. "You sure you want to go in there?"

Sam nodded, although his expression was also pained. "For Michael's sake, yes."

It wasn't too hard to figure out what was fueling Sam's determination. As kids, the Winchester brothers hadn't gotten to do a lot of normal things like birthday parties. Mostly it was because they moved around a lot and so were always the new kids. Invitations didn't come their way often and, when they did, there was either a hunt that took precedence or a lack of money to splurge on a birthday gift for the party-giver. Sam didn't want Mikey to miss out on any of that kind of stuff. In theory, Dean agreed, but when faced with the kind of noise that awaited them, his own resolve waivered.

"Man up, Dean." Sam told him, implacable. "You've faced down ghosts and vampires; you can handle a group of pre-schoolers.  
"  
"Dee Dee?" Mikey's voice was hesitant and one of his little hands reached up and patted Dean on the cheek. 

Dean glanced down and all of his reluctance melted away. Mikey was looking up at him with such an expression of concern and trust that he felt embarrassed for hesitation. 

"Quit draggin' your feet, Sammy." Dean used the arm that wasn't holding Mikey to open the door. "It's time to party."

Sam gave him a look that showed more than words had that he knew what had changed Dean's mind and that he also wouldn't embarrass him by drawing any attention to it. To show his appreciation for his brother's tact, Dean waited until Sam had stepped through the door ahead of him and then smacked him lightly on the ass. Sam turned around and smirked.

"Don't be starting something you can't finish when kids are around." Sam warned him. His tone was prissy, but there was a distinct flicker of desire in his eyes.

Dean laughed softly and headed down the short flight of stairs, the cacophony of children's voices making it clear which direction they needed to go. Sam caught up with him at the bottom of the steps ad leaned forward to whisper in Dean's ear.

"Maybe if Michael gets really tired out, he'll take a long nap this afternoon." Sam's breath ticked against Dean's skin, causing him to shiver. "A really long nap."

Looking at the sight in front of them, Dean smirked. "Somehow, I don't think tiring him out is gonna be a problem."

They were in a lobby of sorts. A revolving door led into the field house proper, but its windows let the two brothers see inside. Inside the dome was the size of two soccer fields and the artificial turf had been painted to show markings for the game. The two fields were divided by netting and on one side there were placed a number of inflatable bounce houses, inflatable climbing structures, slides, soccer goals and balls of every size, shape and color. The field was already teeming with children.

"What the hell, they invite the entire town?" Dean asked. He was all for kids having fun, but disliked it when people used their kids to show off.

"Liddy said that the family has three kids and they celebrate their birthdays all at the same time," Sam explained. "I guess that's more economical that way."

"I suppose." Dean lost interest in the topic, figuring that it really wasn't any of his business. A sign directed them to a closet-sized room staffed by a teenager that looked like she really didn't want to be there. That was, however, until she caught site of who was interrupting her frantic texting. The girl abruptly dropped her phone on the desk and sat up straight, which coincidently pushed her chest out further. She was young enough, though, that Dean didn't know if that part of her action was deliberate or not.

"Can I help you?" The fluttering of her eyelashes, on the other hand, was obviously deliberate.

Dean preened. He'd never stray from Sammy, but appreciation was always nice.

"Yeah, we're here for the Mortenson birthday party," Sam spoke up before Dean could. Dean stifled his smirk; he liked it when Sam got a little possessive.

After giving her their names, the girl looked them up on a list and marked them off. The Mortensons had provided name tags and gift bags, which she distributed.

"This, cutie, is for you." She put an adhesive sticker on Mikey that already had his name on it. Since it also had a picture of Tigger, that made her a hero in the toddler's eyes and he readily allowed the girl to stick it on his shirt. She followed it up with the treat bag and Mikey was soon distracted enough by looking down into its depths that Dean felt safe putting him down without worries of him running off.

"And this one is for you." 

The girl handed Dean a nametag, but instead of a name, it simply stated `Mikey's dad.' Dean took it proudly and peeled off the backing before positioning it on his shirt.

"Huh, that's weird." The girl looked at the other nametag that had been provided and frowned. Dean leaned over and saw that it also read `Mikey's dad.' 

"No, that's exactly right." Dean suddenly felt a lot less tolerant of her flirtatious looks. He took the sticker from her, peeled the backing off in a smooth motion and slapped it on Sam's chest. Dean took a little longer than was strictly necessary stroking over it, pretending to make sure that it was completely pressed down. "Looks yummy, stud muffin."

Sam choked, but even as well as Dean knew his brother, he couldn't tell whether it was from suppressing laughter or curbing the need to strangle Dean.

"Um, the party's on the field to the left and the family is responsible for providing supervision." The girl no longer seemed interested in flirting. "No food or drink allowed on the artificial turf; lunch will served in one of the community rooms."

"Great, thanks. Come on, big boy." Dean gestured towards Sam and, gathering up Mikey, headed in the right direction.

"Was that totally necessary?" Sam asked in a quiet voice.

"No," Dean readily replied, then grinned. "But it was fun."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yummy? Stud muffin?"

Dean looked at the knit shirt Sam was wearing, the one that was tight enough to give a hint at the hard muscles it covered. He let his eyes linger a little longer before returning his attention to Sam's face. "Just callin' `em like I see `em." He waited a beat for emphasis. "Stud."

Sam shook his head, but he was smiling shyly as they took Mikey through the revolving door into the inflated part of the building. Mikey'd never seen a door like that and squealed with delight. Dean put him down and the toddler pushed with all of his might against the door, determined to move it himself. Thankfully, he never looked up and so didn't notice his tall, younger father lending him a hand.

After two complete rotations, Dean'd had enough, so when someone was trying to get out, he gently guided Mikey out of the door. "Gotta share, champ."

Inside, the noise was even louder. Instead of running with full abandon towards the play items, Mikey hung back, going so far as to bump into his fathers' legs as he stepped away from the other children. Although Mikey was an outgoing little boy, he tended to react shyly to crowded situations. Sam bent and picked him up, letting their son feel secure while he got acclimated. Dean stood and looked around, wrinkling his nose at an unpleasant odor.

"Man," he complained. "Smells like ass-. . . "

"Dean!" Sam interrupted him, glaring at his brother over Mikey's head.

"Assss though." Dean rolled his eyes, but quickly changed what he said. Sam kept threatening to create a swear jar and Dean wanted to avoid that if he could. "It smells as though someone sweated in here a lot."

Sam nodded at him. "Better."

"Wow, that stuff sure looks fun." Dean commented after a few minutes had passed with Mikey making no move to leave Sam's arms. "Do you think any of it's big enough for me to play on?"

Mikey lifted his head from where he'd hidden his face in Sam's chest. "Silly, DeeDee!"

"Yeah, Daddy Dean's pretty silly, all right." Sam's eyes twinkled as he bounced the toddler a little, making Mikey giggle. "I'd pay good money to see him try, though."

Dean was saved from putting action to his words by a petite little girl with a riot of blonde curls. "Mikey, play wif us!"

It was another toddler from the daycare, one who was a little older than Mikey. The little boy happily squirmed in Sam's arms, eager to join her. Sam put him down and Mikey was running as soon as his feet hit the ground.

"That's my boy," Dean observed proudly. "Not quite two and he's already got the ladies lining up — and she's an older woman too."

"We'll see what you think of that when he's old enough to date." Sam pointed out.

Dean scoffed. "Who said anything about dating? Mikey doesn't get to go on dates until he's at least 53, but that doesn't mean that chicks won't want him to."

"Or men," Sam added.

"Or men," Dean agreed, although he was quick to clarify. "Although if he ends up being interested in guys, he won't date until he's 67. Dudes are horny bastards and I wouldn't trust one with our son."

Sam wasn't the slightest bit impressed, but he didn't argue. The two of them watched in companionable silence as their son played with the other children. Thankfully, Mikey was too interested in throwing and chasing balls to pay much attention to the bounce house. Dean thought the bouncing looked like a lot of fun, but it was also full of kids about kindergarten age and Mikey would have been swamped.

Toddlers were notorious for the short attention spans, but there were enough toys to keep the small group entertained. Unfortunately, the short attention spans weren't unique to the little kids; the older kids in the bounce house eventually got tired of that and descended on the rest of the play area. One minute, Mikey and the other little ones were playing cooperatively, the next a group of rowdy older kids had moved in like a swarm of locusts. They moved off just as quickly, but took all the balls with them.

Mikey was normally a good-natured little boy, but after the bigger kids had moved off, he started to cry. Dean had been equally shocked by the raid and glowered at the retreating thieves' backs. He was tempted to go after them and explain the concept of bullying, but ultimately didn't; he was simply too angry. Dean hadn't been a father all that long, but knew that lecturing someone else's kid in public was likely to lead to an ugly argument with the other parent. Dean had no doubts about who'd win, but didn't want to mar the party.

Sam was quick to step in and pick Mikey up, offering soothing words of comfort. Several other parents did the same, as Mikey wasn't the only child who was upset at the sudden turn of events. Dean was glad to see other parents glaring at the retreating ball pirates; he wasn't the only one miffed.

When the tears showed no sign of abating, Dean and Sam exchanged a worried look. At home, Mikey had a mostly sunny disposition, something which amused Bobby Singer to no end. He claimed that if Dean hadn't given birth to Mikey, there'd be no way he'd believe the boy was a Winchester; he was simply too cheerful. That was at home, though. Just like Mikey was often shy around large groups of people, the brothers had also noticed that their son tended to be more emotional in crowds. Sam tried a diversionary tactic.

"Look, Michael, the bounce house is empty." He pointed it out to the sobbing little boy. "Do you want to play in there?"

"NO!" If Bobby could have seen the glare on Mikey's face at the moment, he'd never again dare to tease about Mikey being a Winchester. "No bounce!"

Like any father, Dean's instinctive reaction to his child's distress was to want to fix it, but the most frustrating part of parenthood was the realization that he just couldn't fix everything. As he cast around for something, anything, that might help, Dean realized that music was playing. The song was a particularly happy one and a current favorite of Mikey's.

"Listen, Mikey, hear that?" Dean tilted his head. Thankfully they were standing relatively close to the speakers so the sound could be heard over the rowdy kids. "You like this song."

There was a hitch in Mikey's sobbing, although the look he gave his father was far from convinced. Dean was encouraged and started bopping to the music, his head moving in an exaggerated way to the beat. To Dean's relief, his antics got Mikey to stop crying and the little boy actually started giggling, even with his face wet from tears.

Sam grinned, his relief mirroring Dean's. "You want to dance with your Daddy Dean?"

"Yeah!" Sam put Mike down and the little boy bounced in place, giggling. 

Encouraged, Dean gave him some direction. "Okay, shake your booty, Mikey! Shake it!"

Dean turned around and proceeded to offer an example, delighted to hear his son's giggles get louder. It wasn't the most dignified thing he'd ever done, but it wasn't the worst either. Besides, he'd do far sillier things if it meant making the toddler happy. Dean continued for a few moments, but then couldn't wait any longer to see if Mikey was following his lead and turned back around to get a glimpse.

Mikey was following his lead, all right. So were several other toddlers, who'd formed a loose semi-circle around him. Sam, the traitorous bastard, not only hadn't warned Dean, but he had his phone out and was taking pictures.

"More, Dee Dee!" Mikey clapped his hands together in his excitement and so did his little friends.

"Yeah, Daddy Dean, more." Sam's grin was almost too big to fit on a human face. 

One of the other fathers that were watching gave Dean a thumb's up. Dean responded with his own thumb, even though it was an entirely different digit he wanted to raise to the man. 

"DeeDee?" Mikey's voice had a question in it and brought Dean's attention back to his little boy. Mikey still had tears on face as he looked up at his father expectantly; proof that the momentary good mood could vanish quickly. "More dance p'ease?"

"Heck yeah, we're gonna dance." Dean ruffled the toddler's hair. "The more the merrier."

With an evil grin, Dean grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him into the impromptu dancing ring. Dean's reasoning was twofold, not only did Sam look dorkier than he did dancing, but if his younger brother was a part of it, then he couldn't take any more photos.

Most kids loved to dance and the novelty of having two grown men to dance with had the toddlers very happy — for all of five minutes. After that, some pouty faces started making an appearance again. Not Mikey's at first, but he seemed to catch the mood of a couple of others.

"The natives are getting restless," Sam murmured softly.

"I know." Dean cast his eyes around; he was used to making up plans on the fly, but usually for hunting the paranormal. Entertaining the pre-school set was a lot different than a ghost hunt, although it was potentially messier.

Luckily, one of the slides was free. Dean headed over to it, but took a roundabout route, making sure to incorporate some silly moves to amuse his audience, who followed his lead. Almost there, he stopped and grabbed his brother's arm. Sam had been trying to skulk off, but was far too large to do so effectively.

"Not so fast, Daddy Sam." 

Busted, Sam shoulders dropped and he sheepishly rejoined them. Dean was tempted to make him become an arch that the kids had to walk under; with how little the toddlers were and how tall Sam was, the kids probably wouldn't even have to bend to do it. He wasn't sure how well the other parents would take their kids walking in between a stranger's legs, though, so he gave that idea up. Instead, he had Sam load kids onto the inflatable slide while Dean stayed at the bottom to catch them. 

Just about the time Dean's arms got tired, he heard the welcome sound of an ear-piercing whistle. It got everyone's attention, even the toddlers. Over at the side of the field, the same teenager who'd checked them in was standing by the doorway.

"Pizza!"

She didn't need to yell it twice and, in fact, it was a good thing she'd positioned herself by the exit, because the children stampeded towards her. Mikey grabbed both fathers' hands, however, and was content to let the horde go past while they followed at a more sedate pace.

The room where the food was set up seemed too small for the amount of kids running about in it. Long tables were set up with plastic tablecloths that were the expected color of pink. Pizzas had been distributed to each table and Dean was pleased to see that whoever'd ordered them had done so with kids in mind — every single one of them was plain cheese. Not only that, but knives and forks had also been provided so that parents of the smaller kids could cut the food up for their children.

A waving arm got their attention and they happily went where they were beckoned. 

"Hi, Liddy." Sam greeted their daycare provider as she indicated that they should join them at her table. Mikey dropped their hands and immediately ran to her for a hug, as happy as if he hadn't seen her for weeks, even though he'd just been at daycare the day before.

"Hi, sweetie." Liddy readily gathered the little boy into her arms and kissed him on the cheek. As she turned to Dean, though, her smile got just a little bit wicked. "That was quite the show you put on."

Dean felt his cheeks get warm. "Yeah, well, you know me. Anything to keep the peace."

Liddy had known the Winchesters for less than two years, but in that time she'd shown that she was a shrewd judge of character, especially where families were concerned. "I don't find that hard to believe at all." She turned her attention to Sam. "I didn't mean to leave you out, Sam. You've got quite the moves too."

It was Sam's turn to blush. "Thank you, ma'am."

"In fact," Liddy went on, clearly enjoying their embarrassment. "It was obvious that Mikey knows Patsy from daycare, so I had several parents ask me if I knew who you were."

"Hey, if they didn't want us playin' with their kids, they should have gotten out there with us." Dean was immediately on the defensive. 

"Oh, it's not that at all." Liddy put a hand on Dean's arm to calm him down. "Let's just say that if you want a second job being the entertainment at children's parties, I think you've already got some interested customers."

Dean's blush got deeper. With their skewed family life, he wasn't used to regular people wanting him and Sam around their kids. While it was nice to know that they were normalized enough to be accepted, though, he wasn't remotely interested.

"As tempting as that is," Dean drawled, nodding his head to a nearby table where one toddler had just smacked another full in the face with the cheese-side of a slice pizza. "I think I'd rather take a bullet to the head." He looked at Liddy with new-found respect. "I don't know how you do it."

"It's an acquired taste, I'll admit, to be responsible for so many." Liddy admitted. She rested her cheek for a moment on the top of Mikey's head. "But there are rewards."

"Za!" Mikey'd had enough cuddling and wiggled from Liddy's lap in attempt to reach the pizza. 

Dean grabbed him, not so much worried about the little boy's manners as he was concerned he'd fall while trying to climb the table. "Come here, you little barbarian."

Mikey looked like he was about to fuss, but Sam quickly solved that problem by grabbing some pizza and cutting it up for the hungry boy. Dean and Sam took turns making sure their son got enough to eat, shoveling in their own pizza when they could. It wasn't the best pizza Dean had ever had, but he wasn't expecting anything fancy. The party was for kids, after all, and little kids didn't have the most discriminating of palates.

The room was smaller than the field house, but quieter. Not only did it have more furnishings to absorb the sound, but the mass of children were more intent on lunch than with playing. The quiet lasted long enough for the Winchester brothers to answer Liddy's shy questions about what their father was currently up to, but not long enough for any of the other parents to approach them. Before long, though, the kids were done eating and began to get restless. Not even birthday cake and punch held their attention for long. 

Dean was not looking forward to the room holding them all, not when they'd been running so wild earlier and that was before they'd gotten sugared up. Luckily, he didn't really have to worry about it.

"Okay, kids, time for the piñata." A woman whom Dean assumed was little Patsy's mother announced to the crowd. "After that we'll open presents."

"Great," Dean muttered under his breath.

Sam rolled his eyes. "What's wrong with that?"

"Seriously?" Dean asked him. "You really think arming a group of kids with a big stick and telling them to hit things is a good idea?"

"Sounds like fun." Sam had a stubborn set to his jaw. A piñata was `normal' and as far as Sam was concerned, anything normal was sacrosanct.

"Excuse me, Mr. Winchester?" Patsy's mom had approached them while they'd been talking. Her eyes were on Sam, though, so there was no doubt which Winchester she was addressing.

Sam's eyebrows went up, but he readily answered. "Yes, that's me." He smiled at Dean. "One of them anyway."

"I couldn't help but notice that you're the tallest person here." The woman told them. "Would you mind holding the piñata up for us? We don't want to make it too easy for the kids."

"He'd love to," Dean answered before Sam could so much as open his mouth. "Thanks for making us part of the party."

"Good, that's settled, then." She took Sam by the arm, all but cooing when she got a feel of it. "And you're so strong too."

Sam glared at Dean over his shoulder as he walked away and Dean just couldn't help himself. "Just a minute, Sammy."

His brother's expression lightened; Sam obviously thought Dean was coming to his rescue. Instead, Dean stepped closer and deftly lifted Sam's cell phone out of his back pocket. "I'll take care of this for you; wouldn't want it to get broken or anything."

Dean laughed under his breath as Sam was led away. Just like Sam'd taken pictures of him earlier, he'd get to take pictures of Sam playing piñata tree and use Sam's own phone to do it. Revenge was sweet.

As it turned out, it wasn't such a dangerous duty. Patsy's family had a long pole to extend the piñata from, so Sam was in no real danger of getting the family jewels whacked. Since Dean had plans for those jewels later, he was happy for that and for the way that Sam protectively turned to the side whenever one of the bigger kids stepped up to take a turn.

The kids were lined up smallest to tallest, so Mikey was one of the first kids to take a turn. He got a light hit on it, helped by Sam dipping the piñata, as he did for all of the smallest participants. It didn't break, but that little detail didn't dampen Mikey's exuberance; he came running up to where Dean and Liddy stood watching, every bit as happy as if he had he knocked the colorful creation down.

"I's hit it!" The little boy crowed, jumping up and down. 

"We saw, good job, champ!" Dean praised him.

The piñata didn't break during the first round, so every kid had at least once chance to make a try. Dean had a feeling Sam had something to do with that, as even blindfolded, the thing wasn't that hard to hit. Mikey enjoyed his second turn every bit as much as his first. Finally, about halfway through the second round, a little girl got a solid hit on the piñata and candy flew everywhere.

Dean was a little worried about Mikey getting trampled in the mad dash for treats, but thankfully some candy landed near them and away from the crowd. Mikey ended up with a piece in each hand and was more than content with that.

"All right, everyone, time for presents." Patsy's mom looked a little frayed around the edges, but Dean didn't feel sorry for her. Maybe the next time, she'd organize something a little smaller.

Sam was right about there being birthdays for three different siblings being celebrated; Dean was happy that they only had to bring a present for the kid that Mikey knew. The active play and after-effects of a cake and punch-induced sugar rush had left Mikey sleepy. As a result, he wasn't terribly interested in the proceedings and ended up on Sam's lap. Before long, Dean noticed that Mike was playing with the hair behind his ear; a sign that a nap was imminent. Sure enough, when he checked, Mikey's eyes were half mast.

"He out?" Sam asked, having seen his brother look. From the way Mikey was situated on his lap, he couldn't see the little boy's face.

"Won't be long." Dean winced when one of the birthday girls opened something particularly coveted and let out a huge squeal. "Unless someone wakes him up."

Many little children were pretty mercenary when it came to opening presents, not lingering over admiring each one in the eagerness to figure out what their total haul was. These kids weren't any different and so the whole thing didn't take as long as it would have for three adults. In less time than Dean would have thought, the mound of gifts had been open and the ground around the recipients was littered with torn paper.

Dean was very relieved to see that other parents were starting to gather up their kids' things. "Time to split, Sammy."

"Good." Sam's was clearly of a similar mind.

They said goodbye to Liddy and got ready to leave. It didn't take long to grab Mikey's bags, the gift one and the diaper bag, and head for the exit. The toddler was totally out by that time, asleep with his head pillowed on Sam's shoulder. Sam was as practiced as Dean, though, in walking carefully so that the movement didn't wake him up. Mikey was a good-natured kid, but was as cranky as any toddler if his nap was interrupted.

"Do me a favor," Dean told his brother as they made it into the parking lot. "If I ever suggest having a party like this one, just shoot me. It'd be a lot less trouble."

"It did seem a bit much." Sam shrugged. "At least there weren't any clowns."

Dean grinned. "Mikey's too cool for those painted jerks anyway."

He opened the car door for Sam and watched as his brother settled their little boy into his car seat. Mikey didn't so much as twitch.

"Man, he's really out of it." Dean commented as Sam finished buckling Mikey in and stepped back from the car.

"All that dancing wore him out." Sam brushed his hip against Dean's. "I think he's gonna take a nice long nap."

"Really." Dean licked his lips. He'd seen at least two females ogle Sam and the idea of marking his territory was an appealing one. "I think I could stand some time on a mattress myself."

Sam leaned down, his breath warm on Dean's ear. "There won't be any standing involved."

"Well, hot diggity." Dean kissed Sam briefly before impatiently gesturing towards the car. "And it's not even my birthday."

"Let's go home," Sam agreed, moving towards the passenger side of the car. "Then you can unwrap your present."

Dean got in and started the Impala impatiently. They'd survived their first toddler's birthday party and done so relatively intact. Life was good and, once they got home, it'd be even better.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted March 20, 2013


	110. Pardonnez-Moi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is four, Sam is pregnant with Danny

Sam Winchester got out of the Impala more slowly than was normal for him. Although his pregnancy was going far more smoothly than his brother’s had, it still made him tire more easily than usual. Pre-pregnancy, spending a Saturday afternoon running errands with Dean and their four year-old wouldn’t be wearing him out as much as it was.

As Dean helped Michael out of his car seat, Sam took a moment to stretch, wincing as various parts of his body popped and cracked. Much to Dean’s disgust, Sam’s baby belly wasn’t showing very much. In fact all Sam had to do was wear his shirts a little loose and not tuck them in; just those easy precautions masked the pregnancy.

Sam sighed as he relaxed his muscles from the stretch. The minor discomfort of the action was nothing compared to the relief it offered overtaxed muscles. He ended by rolling his neck back and forth, wincing a little when he heard a crack as something realigned.

“That’s it.” Dean’s voice was firm. His brother had finished with Michael and come around to Sam’s side of the car, the little boy in tow. From his frown, Dean did not like what he’d just witnessed. “This is the last stop and then we’re going home. You need a nap.”

Back when Dean had capitulated about Sam being the one to carry their second child, part of the agreement was that Dean got to fuss as much as he wanted and Sam couldn’t complain about it. If he did say so himself, Sam had done well keeping his promise. Verbally anyway - he did indulge in some eye rolls or other nonverbal actions when he thought Dean was being especially fussy. So, while he didn’t complain about the nap comment, Sam did allow himself a sigh of long-suffering.

Dean eyed him warily, but relaxed when Sam didn’t actually say anything. That matter dealt with, Dean turned towards their next destination. “A French bakery, Sam?”

“Yup.”

“Really?” Dean’s expression was skeptical. “Isn’t that a little. . . .” he looked down at their son and modified his word choice, “fancy?”

Sam smiled smugly. One of their errands had taken them to campus, where Sam had forgotten some papers he’d meant to grade over the weekend. The bakery was far closer to the university than it was to their house, so it was an easy place for Sam to slip away to when he needed a break. Dean didn’t know it, but especially since becoming pregnant, Sam’d become a bona fide regular there. That didn’t matter, though. All that mattered was that Sam knew what was important to his brother and, other than family; his stomach was pretty high on Dean’s priority list.

“Two words, Dean.” Sam retorted. “Cream. Puff.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Cream puffs? Chocolate or vanilla?”

Sam leaned close and whispered hoarsely, as though he were sharing a very special secret. “Both.”

“Ah, man.” Dean bent down so that he could more easily talk to Michael. “Mikey, you are in for a treat!”

“What are cream puffs, DeeDee?” Michael asked, curious. Whatever made his older father so excited was clearly a good thing in Michael’s book.

“They’re like Twinkies, but better,” Dean explained as he took Michael’s hand and started walking towards the door. “They’ve got sweet smooth stuff in the middle and cake around the outside. You’ll love ‘em.”

Sam cringed at his brother’s explanation. He knew Dean had to keep things simple so that the little boy could understand, but Twinkies? Hopefully the owner hadn’t heard that comparison or there would be hell to pay. Mademoiselle Josette was a nice woman, but justifiably proud of her baked goods.

Once inside, Sam was surrounded by the wonderful scents of the bakery and his concern melted away. Directly in front of him, Dean came to a complete stop in front of the display case, mouth open in amazement. The sight brought Sam out of his pastry-induced haze.

“See something you like?” Sam asked as he sidled up to Dean’s side. He manfully didn’t point out how Dean’d complained before they walked in.

“Oooo-la-la,” Dean murmured, his eyes never leaving the display case.

“Oooo-la-what?” Michael looked up at his fathers in confusion.

Dean laughed softly and bent to pick Michael up, giving the little boy a better look at the display case. “It’s a fancy way to say something looks good.”

“Oh,” Michael looked at the treats again before addressing both of his fathers. “But there aren’t any Twinkies.”

Sam bit back a sigh; it wasn’t Michael’s fault that he’d inherited Dean’s stomach. “No, no Twinkies here.” He gestured towards the display case. “What’s in here is a lot better.”

Michael’s face lit up as he looked inside eagerly. “Pop-Tarts?”

“No,” Sam couldn’t help but laugh. “No, Pop-Tarts, either.”

Before Michael could pout, a woman came bustling out of the back room. She was about John Winchester’s age and nearly as tall. Mlle Josette didn’t exemplify the stereotype of French beauty, but had a smile that could light up a room and she did exactly that as she saw who her latest customer was.

“Professeur Sam!” Mlle Josette greeted him enthusiastically. “But it is the weekend, no? You work far too hard.”

“Professor, huh?” Dean’s eyes twinkled as he glanced as his brother. “She does know you’re a lowly grad student, doesn’t she?”

Sam was saved from answering by Mlle Josette, who had either ignored or hadn’t heard Dean’s comment. “And you brought your family. Lovely.”

“Yes, I did.” Sam gestured from Dean to Mlle Josette. “Dean, Michael, I’d like you to meet Mlle Josette. This is her bakery and she’s responsible for all of the wonderful pastries you see.”

“Pleased to meet you ma’am,” Dean nodded at the baker. “Mikey, say hello.”

“H’llo,” Michael obediently said, but suddenly shy, wrapped his arms tightly around Dean’s neck and looked to be a moment away from hiding his face against his father’s chest.

“Ah, you have arrived just in time,” Josette winked at Sam before going behind the counter. When she came back, she had a macaron in her hand. “This is a new recipe and I need someone to taste one and tell me if it’s good enough for my bakery. Michael, would you be willing to help me?”

The promise of a cookie overcame Michael’s bashfulness. After looking to his fathers for permission and getting dual nods of consent, Michael smiled. “Yes, ma’am, I can help.”

Josette handed him the cookie and smiled broadly as the little boy took it. Michael bit into it enthusiastically and then grinned. “S’good! Thank you.”

“Il est tel un gentleman peu!” Mlle Josette was clearly impressed that Michael hadn’t had to be prompted to say thank you. “He is very much like you, Professeur Sam.”

Michael looked up at Dean. “DeeDee, what did she say?”

“I dunno, I don’t speak French, Mikey,” Dean replied. “But I know it was something good.”

“Indeed it was,” Mlle Josette laughed. “Forgive me, young Michael. No matter how long I live in America, sometime I lapse into French, my native language.”

“French?” Michael asked. Sam was pleased to see that the little boy swallowed so that he wasn’t speaking with a mouth full of cookie. “I know French!”

Sam exchanged an amused glance with his brother. Michael’s imagination was adorable. “You do?”

“Yeah,” Michael nodded enthusiastically. “Grandpa taught me.”

His son’s innocent comment caused Sam’s stomach to drop and his amusement morphed into a bad feeling. Dean, however, didn’t seem to have the same reaction; he smiled and tickled Michael’s stomach gently. “So do I, French fries and French toast, right?”

“No,” Michael giggled. “Mother fucking sonuvabitch.”

Every once in a while a random silence occurred in every public space and Michael’s spate of cursing happened to fall during one of those in the bakery. Every face in the place turned to stare at them. It would take far less sensitive child than Michael to be immune to that and, with his empathy; he picked up immediately on the change in atmosphere. Before either Dean or Sam could say anything, Michael buried his face into Dean’s neck.

“Hou la,” Mlle Josette murmured. One hand came up to cover her mouth and, from the way her eyes twinkled, Sam could tell that the woman was stifling a giggle.

“Hey there, kiddo,” Dean rubbed Michael’s back. “It’s okay.”

“Yeah, Michael,” Sam added his touch to his brother’s, projecting as much reassurance towards his son as he possibly could, hoping that Michel would pick up on it. “Everything’s all right.”

With both fathers lavishing comfort on him, Michael soon felt confident enough to lift his face. “I didn’t say anything funny.”

Sam shared a relieved glance with his brother. The people around them were reacting with amusement rather than disgust. Michael didn’t like feeling as though people were laughing at him, but it was far less damaging than had he felt anger being directed his way.

“I hate to tell you this, Mikey, but that wasn’t French.” Dean explained. 

“But Grandpa said those words after he hit his thumb with a hammer an’ then he said ‘Pardon my French.’” Michael’s faith in his grandfather was absolute. “Is it different French than what Miss Josette says?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Now that Michael wasn’t upset anymore, Dean looked a little too amused for Sam’s peace of mind.

Sam reached for his son and Dean obligingly handed him over. Michael immediately snuggled close. Knowing that the conversation was going to take a few minutes, Sam brought them over to one o the small tables that were set up around the perimeter of the store front. He settled in a chair, with Michael on his knee and Dean across from both of them.

“You see, some words are only supposed to be used by grown-ups and then only in special situations.” Sam started out. Michaels’s gaze was riveted to his face and Sam was hyperaware that his son was hanging on to his every word. “They’re called curse words or swearing and they’re kind of naughty. Grown-ups aren’t supposed to use them around little kids, but sometimes they forget. When they do, sometimes they pretend they’re speaking French to hide that they were being naughty.”

“When I’m naughty, I have to go into time out.” Michael frowned. “I don’t think Grandpa would like a time out.”

Dean snorted, but stifled it when Sam glared at him. To say that their father would not like a time out was the understatement of the year.

“It’s different for grown-ups,” Sam replied.

“That’s not fair!” Michael pouted.

“It’s like this, Mikey,” Dean joined the explanation and seeing that his brother looked more serious about the topic than he had at first, Sam welcomed his participation. Why was it that he was in grad school and yet often felt as though a four year-old could think circles around him? “You know how we told you that coffee was a drink for grown-ups and you asked and asked until we let you have a sip?”

Michael wrinkled his nose up at the memory of the bad taste. “It was yucky.”

“That’s right.” Dean pointed at the little boy. “That’s ‘cause it was for grown-ups. Same thing with swearing — it’s only for grown-ups. Maybe you’ll enjoy it when you’re old enough, but you’re not old enough yet.”

Michael huffed, clearly having had his fill of being told he wasn’t old enough yet for something. His face fell, though, as something occurred to him. “Am I in trouble, since I said a naughty, grown-up word?”

“No,” Sam was quick to reassure him. “You didn’t know it was wrong, so you won’t be punished. Now that you know that it’s naughty when little kids do it, though, you’ll get in trouble for swearing if you do it again.”

“How will I know if a word is a naughty word?” Michael asked. He was a good boy and generally wanted to stay out of trouble.

“You ask me or DeeDee,” Sam readily supplied an answer. “And you don’t use it until you get the okay from one of us.”

“Okay,” Michael nodded and immediately put the suggestion to use. “Is ‘shit’ a bad word? I heard you say it, DaSa, when you dropped the milk on the floor.”

Dean’s chuckle was low and dirty. “Busted, Sammy.”

Sam gritted his teeth, keeping up his inner litany so that his empathetic son wouldn’t pick up on his exasperation. Sam used the least profanity of the full grown Winchester men, but of course Michael’d overheard his indiscretion. “Fine. Obviously, Grandpa’s not the only one with a potty mouth. What we need is a swear jar.”

“A swear what?” Dean didn’t look too happy at the idea.

“A swear jar,” Sam repeated, for both Michael and Dean’s benefit. “When a grown-up swears around Michael, they have to put money in the swear jar.”

“And when there’s enough money, we can buy a toy?” Michael liked the idea far more than Dean did, probably because of his piggy bank. Whenever the little boy got cash as a gift, Sam and Dean always insisted he put some in his bank. He’d recently been allowed to retrieve some of it to buy a game he’d been wanting. Clearly, it had made a big impression.

“We’ll see,” Sam laughed. “Maybe we’ll use it to do something together as a family.”

“Or maybe it’ll put Mikey through college,” Dean added. When Sam looked at him skeptically, Dean just shrugged. “Dad alone could fund a year or two.”

“Can we have some of those fancy Twinkies DeeDee talked about first?” Michael asked. Sitting on his DaSa’s lap, he was feeling a lot better about what had happened and the treats in the display case were asserting their influence.

“Yeah, Sammy, I got promised cream puffs and that’s not the kind of promise you break.” Dean stood up, holding a hand out to Michael. The little boy jumped of Sam’s lap and immediately started pulling Dean towards the display case.

Sam followed. Even though he was a frequent visitor, he was still impressed by the selection. Mlle Josette saw that the family conference had finished and approached them.

“Is everything all right, Professeur Sam?” Her eyes flicked to Michael.

“We’re fine, thank you.” Sam rubbed the back of his head. “About earlier, I’m sorry. Michael picked up some colorful language from his grandfather. . . .”

Josette waved off his apology. “No need. Americans did not invent colorful language. As long as the little monsieur isn’t upset.”

“We talked it out and I think he understands now,” Sam glanced to where Michael was pointing out his favorite-looking treats in the case and smiled. “Besides, your pastries can perk anyone up.”

Mlle Josette gave a throaty laugh and blushed as prettily as a much younger woman. “Shall I box up your usual, professeur?”

“Your usual, huh?” Of course Dean had heard that comment. “You been holding out on me, Sammy.”

Sam let the comment slide, since it was mostly true. “That’d be great, thanks. We’ll also take four of the profiteroles, two vanillas and two chocolate.”

Dean and Michael wore twin wide-eyed expressions of amazement as Mlle Josette boxed up Sam’s Napoleons, as well as the cream puffs. Once they’d been paid for, and Mlle Josette thanked both for her baked goods and her understanding, the little family again found themselves at one of the tables.

“Just one, Michael,” Sam cautioned as he opened the box and the little boy appeared ready to dive right in. “You’ve already had a cookie.”

“He’s gonna be good and sugared up,” Dean murmured under his breath as he reached into the box too. “Good luck getting him to nap this afternoon.”

“Not my problem,” Sam was smug when he replied. Sometimes there was an upside to Dean’s fussing. “I’ll be taking a nap, remember?”

Dean frowned, but his cranky face only lasted as long as it took him to bite into a cream puff. Sam idly noted that it was the vanilla one, but most of his attention was taken by the ecstatic look on his brother’s face. From his expression, Dean was experiencing an almost orgasmic pleasure.

“Good, huh?” Sam asked, unnecessarily. He took a big bite out of his own treat, closing his eyes for a moment to more fully enjoy the taste.

“Really good!” Mikey answered for his father. He had chocolate cream smeared all over his mouth and a dusting of powdered sugar on the tip of his nose. “These are lots better than Twinkies, DaSa.”

“I should think so!” Mlle Josette had been hovering around the cash register, shamelessly waiting to see how they liked her baked goods. Despite the snippiness of her remark, she was still grinning and obviously wasn’t offended. Laughing, she disappeared into the back room.

“Sammy, you’ve really been holding out on me,” Dean complained while licking his lips. “You owe me like a million cream puffs.”

“A gazillion million,” Michael added. He could count up to a hundred easily enough, but had a looser grasp on bigger numbers.

“If you eat a million cream puffs, you’ll look like you did right before Michael was born,” Sam pointed out with an air of pseudo-helpfulness. Dean’d had a far harder time with weight gain during pregnancy than Sam was experiencing. He took another bite of his Napoleon with relish.

Dean frowned at him. “That’s low, Sammy.”

Since it was, Sam immediately felt contrite. He sometimes got mean when he was sugared up. Seeing that the other customers were no longer paying attention to their family, Sam leaned over and kissed Dean quickly on the cheek. “Sorry.”

Dean took another bite of his cream puff. “You’re forgiven, but only because these things are so dam-. . . .” Sam cleared his throat, warning Dean of his word choice. “Darn good.”

“Can I have another one?” Michael was looking at the box with longing.

“Not until after supper,” Sam finished off his own pastry and closed the box, earning him dual sorrowful looks from his brother and son. “It’s not the end of the world, just a few hours away.”

“Right.” Dean sighed. “Time to head home now, I think a certain DaSa needs a nap.”

“Not yet,” Sam disagreed. “We need to stop somewhere to get a suitable jar. Then you and Michael can spend some quality time this afternoon decorating it.”

“Yeah!” Michael jumped up and down. “I can show Grandpa tonight.”

Their dad was due in from a local hunt and the Winchester brothers had been planning a casual barbeque. Michael was always glad to see his grandfather and would no doubt enjoy showing him the swear jar — which was a blessing. John Winchester would tolerate a swear jar as presented by his beloved grandson, but if Dean or Sam were to introduce the idea, it would like spur more of the colorful language rather than stopping it.

“I suppose we can stop by the hardware store and get a jar of some kind,” Dean capitulated, but then stabbed his finger at his brother. “After that, though, it’s a nap for you, Sam. No more distractions.

“Yes, clearly there is a nap in my immediate future.” Sam got up and led the way out of the bakery. As they approached the car, though, he had an alternate suggestion. “Hey, Bed, Bath and Beyond is closer.”

Dean looked pained. “Come on, Sammy. That place is for yuppies, hipsters or guppies. . . whatever they’re calling people with more money than sense these days.”

“It’s on the way home,” Sam pointed out as held open the door for Michael and then strapped the little boy into his car seat. “And the sooner I get home, the sooner I can take that nap you want me to have.”

Dean glared at him. “You. Suck.”

“Is ‘suck’ a grown-up word?” Michael called from the back seat.

Sam manfully stifled a laugh. From the look on Dean’s face, it looked like he saw it anyway. “No. Suck is not a get-you-trouble-grown-up word, but it’s not a good word either.”

“Then why did you use it, DeeDee?”

Dean got into the car and slammed the door. “Because sometimes not-good words are the only ones that work.”

It was a short ride to Bed, Bath and Beyond, but it felt longer. After ‘suck,’ Michael had launched into a barrage of words, asking if they were naughty or not. Dean smirked and let Sam answer all of them, presumably because the swear jar was his idea.

Since it was a Saturday, the parking lot of Bed, Bath and Beyond was packed and Sam could only imagine what it was like inside. It was a good thing he had no intention of finding out. He sat quietly while Dean found a spot to park and didn’t make an effort to move as his brother got out.

“You coming?” Dean asked, having helped Michael get out and only belatedly realizing that Sam had made no effort to leave the car.

“Nope.” Sam waved off his brother’s suggestion. “I’m tired, I think I’ll stay out here and rest up. I trust you and Michael to pick out the best jar possible.”

“We’ll get a good one, right, DeeDee?” Michael grabbed Dean’s hand and swung it happily. “Betcha we’ll get the best jar they got. Hey, DeeDee, is pickle a bad word?”

Dean glared at his brother again, mouthing ‘you suck’ as he took Michael by the hand and leading him safely through the crowded parking lot towards the busy store. Dean turned right before going in and Sam waved at him jauntily.

Sam waited until his brother and son had disappeared inside. He thought back to the expression on Mlle Josette’s face when Michael had cussed up a blue storm and his lips twitched. Then he savored the memory of Dean’s face when his brother realized he’d been tricked into going into a trendy store like Bed, Bath and Beyond without Sam. The grin broke completely free. Lastly, Sam imagined his father’s expression when Michael proudly showed him a freshly decorated swear jar and what John Winchester’s reaction would be the first time he was guilt-tripped by a preschooler into making the first deposit.

It started out as a chuckle, but before long, Sam was howling with laughter. By the time Dean and Michael got back, he’d be fully under control; he’d once again be the sensitive, polite Sam Winchester who was understandably appalled that his four year-old could out cuss a sailor.

For the moment, though, it was just damn funny.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted July 14, 2014


	111. Drafted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is 9, Danny is 5

Sam came home looking shell-shocked. Since his brother had only taken their kids up to the community center to sign them up to play soccer, Dean was a little baffled, not to mention concerned. The boys had bounced through the door a few moments ahead of their younger father, though, and showed no signs of being upset. In fact, their dogs were greeting the children as though they’d been gone years instead of an hour and the boys were returning the welcome rowdily and with great enthusiasm.

“All right, you heathens, take it outside,” Dean raised his voice to instruct boys and dogs alike. He pointed towards the kitchen. “Use the backdoor.”

“Okay, DeeDee,” Michael cheerfully headed off where he was directed.

“C’mon, Chevy!” Danny, as was typical, was a lot louder about it. Not only did he use his outside voice, but he jumped as he talked, as if he were a boy-sized frog. “I’ll show you how to kick a ball!”

Dean watched them go, laughing a little at the commotion that two boys and two dogs could make. “Chuckleheads,” he murmured fondly. As he turned to his brother, though, Dean’s expression became serious.

“Sammy, you okay?”

Sam flopped into one of their big leather chairs before answering. “I got Michael signed up without any problem, but the woman organizing the leagues said there was no one available to coach the team for Danny’s age group.”

Dean looked in the direction that his sons had disappeared in. It was muffled due to distance and closed doors, but he could still hear the sounds of dogs barking and children laughing. “He doesn’t exactly seem broken up about it.”

“That’s because they asked me to coach it,” Sam ran a hand over his face. He looked as unsure of himself as Dean had ever seen him.

“You said yes.” It wasn’t exactly a question, but Sam reacted as though it had been.

“Of course I said yes,” Sam glared at him, but Dean didn’t take it personally. He knew his brother well enough to know that Sam was feeling out of his depth and wasn’t really angry with him. “Danny’s been so excited to finally be old enough to play.”

Whatever Michael did, Danny wanted to do too and their youngest had practically been counting the days until he could be on a soccer team like his big brother was. To say he would have been disappointed had there been no team to play on would have been a vast understatement.

“You didn’t have a choice,” Dean cautiously agreed, sitting down on the couch across from his brother. “What’s the problem? I don’t get it; you loved soccer when you were a kid.”

In fact, Sam had defied their father to play on a championship team.

Sam sat up and this time his glare looked more personal. “What’s the problem? Enjoying playing soccer is one thing, but coaching is completely different. I’m not ready for that.”

“You’re already a teacher, Sam,” Dean pointed out. “You’re great with kids.”

Sam snorted. “College-aged kids, sure, but I can reason with them. Can you imagine me being in charge of a couple of dozen Danny’s age?”

In fact, Dean was doing exactly that. Sam was tall enough that most five year-olds only came as high as his hip. In his mind’s eye, Dean could see Sam surrounded by a group of rambunctious kids that were kindergarten age, all clambering for attention and not listening to instructions. It would be like herding cats. Not only that, but Sam would be like a giant amongst a sea of hyperactive munchkins.

The mental picture was, even if Dean would only admit it to himself, stinking adorable.

“Better you than me,” Dean shrugged, grinning despite his husband’s baleful glare. “I’d probably damage their psyches or some shit like that.”

“You’re enjoying this,” Sam stated, looking at Dean with narrowed eyes.

“Damn skippy,” Dean admitted readily and without the least bit of shame.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Of all the times for you to not protest taking your turn to pick up the dog poop from the yard.”

It’d been how they divided the chores up that morning. Ridding their yard of dog shit was not Dean’s favorite activity, but he still preferred it over dealing with the paperwork that was involved with the community youth soccer league. At least with the dog shit, he got to be outside.

“Nah,” Dean shook his head. “Would have been the same outcome.”

Sam cocked his head as he looked at him. “What do you mean – if you would have been there, they would have asked you.”

“Sure, but I would have just told them that you’d do it.” Dean grinned as Sam sputtered. “What? You’re more qualified than me.” 

Sam’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times. At first, Dean enjoyed watching his brother’s reaction, but then something terrible happened. Sam stopped fuming and started grinning.

And it was an evil grin.

“I’m going to need an assistant coach,” Sam stated brightly. “And I know just the guy.”

“Yeah,” Dean tried to hide how desperate he’d suddenly become. “Dad.”

“No, not Dad,” Sam shook his head, eyes twinkling. “You see, the head coach calls the plays and so he has to be removed from the action. It’s the assistant coach that has to be more hands on. You know, running up and down the field with the kids, getting sweaty doing drills with them, fixing boo-boos when they fall down and get hurt. That kind of thing. Dad’s in good shape for his age, but it really should be someone younger.”

Dean pointed his finger at his brother. “I’m gonna tell him that you said that.”

Sam crossed his arms across his chest, a smug smile of satisfaction on his face. “Go right ahead. I’m sure under the circumstances, he won’t mind.”

The thing was, John Winchester loved his grandsons fiercely. Adored them, really. But other little kids? He had scant patience for them and Sam Winchester, damn his black heart, knew that.

Dean deflated, but tried to salvage what he could from the situation. “Okay, but I get a whistle.”

Sam shook his head. “Nope. Whistles and clipboards are for head coaches. Assistant coaches get to schlep the Gatorade and organize the other parents into bringing snacks.”

Eyes narrowed, Dean contemplated his brother. Sam had quickly become entirely too cheerful about the whole thing. “In other words, I’ll be your soccer slave.”

“You’ve got a problem with that?” There was a playful challenge in Sam’s tone and it immediately hit Dean in the libido. He loved it when he could get his all-too-often serious little brother to lighten up.

Still, there was some negotiating to be done.

“I dunno, that depends,” Dean said slowly. “I’ve got three conditions.”

“They better not include the whistle or the clipboard,” Sam warned him. From the way his lips were twitching, though, he was having a hard time looking stern. “I already told you, those are off the table.”

Dean ignored him. 

“First,” Dean held up one finger. “You keep the promise you made when Mikey started playing.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Fine. I will never refer to you as a ‘soccer mom,’ I promise. Again.” 

“You better not,” Dean warned him. “Otherwise, the only balls you’ll be playing with for the foreseeable future are soccer balls.”

“I hear you, Dean.” Sam crossed his arms across his chest. “Loud and clear.”

“Second,” Dean held up another finger. “We are not buying a minivan; that SUV of yours is monstrosity enough.”

“The SUV should be plenty big to haul the boys and their gear,” Sam stated, shrugging off Dean’s concern. “We might have to bring extra equipment as the coaches, but we can always bring the Impala too if we have to.”

Dean nodded. He wouldn’t mind arriving at the games in style and, in his opinion, there was nothing stylish about Sam’s SUV. The Impala, after all, had carried cargo far less innocuous than soccer gear.

“Last, but not least,” Dean held up a third and final finger. “When the boys aren’t around, we find another use for the whistle.” He waggled his eyebrows at his younger brother. 

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but then snapped it shut, cheeks turning a lovely shade of red.

“Like that idea, do you?” Dean asked, satisfied.

“You are incorrigible,” Sam finally unleashed his smile – and his dimples. He got up from the chair and started towards the kitchen. As his route brought him behind the couch that Dean was seated on, though, Sam abruptly stopped and bent down so that he could reach over Dean’s shoulder to lay one big hand on his brother’s chest. 

“You are going to be at my beck and call, every time I blow that whistle,” Sam whispered, each word a warm puff of air that caressed Dean’s ear. “I’ll blow and you’ll jump.”

Dean swallowed, shifting on the couch as he pants suddenly felt tight. “Why Professor Winchester, that’ll be a naughty way to act in front of all those kids.”

Sam chuckled, a low and dirty sound that was usually characteristic of Dean. “Who said I’d be blowing it during a game?”

With a twist of his hips, Sam sauntered off into the kitchen, leaving a hot and bothered Dean alone on the couch. The older Winchester brother tugged at the collar of his shirt, pretty sure he’d just been neatly manipulated into taking on assistant coaching duties, but equally certain that he didn’t much care.

Damn, but he couldn’t wait for soccer season to start.

~the end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted November 5, 2014
> 
> I don't consider "Baby Steps" complete, but this chapter is the last of my stockpile. There will be more, eventually, but the writing doesn't come nearly as quickly as it did in the beginning. Thank you to everyone for the kudos and comments. I think I addressed all the comments individually, but wanted to say again how much I appreciate them!


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